


As Above

by kasiapeia



Series: With Blood and Bone [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Also I am so here for Wyman/Emily but like leave me be okay, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Characters with PTSD, Daud has a heart, F/M, I say it's explicit but it's probably closer to mature but hey, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, emily is bisexual as hell, in which everyone goes to Tyvia, let's go on the safe side here, mild spoilers for Dishonored 2, spoilers for the Corroded Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 94,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9599093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasiapeia/pseuds/kasiapeia
Summary: A year after Delilah's coup, Emily Kaldwin is settling back into the throne. However, when the Outsider reveals that his powers are waning, the Empress is forced to partner with a person she very much would like to have avoided until the end of time. The Void may be threatening to end the world as she knows it, but it also sings to Emily in her very bones, and there are certain things she cannot deny no matter the circumstances.Her attraction to the man she should have no association with, is one of them.





	1. Prologue

She dreamt that she was drowning.

Well, no, she wasn't quite drowning but she was six feet under the surface of the black water that surrounded her, and she could feel the water entering her lungs with every breath she took.

But she could breathe.

Something darted past her, just out of the corner of her eye--something she could never see, no matter how fast she turned. It was always there, and always just out of reach. She could feel its breath on the top of her head, and shivered under ice-cold fingers dancing over her bared neck. There was a sense of familiarity in this darkness, and she needed to taste it, to feel it, to let it become a part of her.

The light above her began was not far, she could reach for it if she tried. She could break the surface, return to that which she had come from, or she could stay here. She knew what was above, but down here...Her innate curiosity had led to many situations which she would have dearly liked to have avoided but the temptation to discover the unknown was tantalizing. The rush of the water in her ears drowned out all other thoughts, calling to her, singing to her.

She could become a part of this. She could leave her kingdom behind, and join the great dark expanse. A voice in the back of her head said that she had a duty to uphold. That she was responsible for the fate of all those she governed but, _oh_ , how she wanted to run away. She wanted to let the water overcome her. She wanted to lose control, then fight to get it back just to prove that she was stronger, that she was _powerful_.

A whale song resonated around her, their calls shaking her to her very core until she was exposed for the water to see. She was a young girl with a heart full of equal parts dark and light, and a yearning to see the world. She wanted to walk not amongst the stars but to walk across the coals, her head held high and proud. She was certain in her abilities, as were those who looked upon her. Resplendent, and magnificent; daring any living soul to challenge her, to question her authority. They would all end up like those who had challenged her before. Dead, disgraced, or simply having disappeared.

Her soul was fuelled by the Void, and she let out a sigh as she succumbed to it, icy fingertips still drawing indecipherable patterns across her skin.


	2. Dunwall in Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"He was everything that the Void was. Everything from...what was it that her mother’s heart had said? Cradle songs of comfort, and bones gnawed by teeth."_

It was far easier to long for the crown than it was to wear it, Emily Kaldwin had learnt this the hard way. To the public, all it seemed she had to do was to greet nobles and dignitaries with a smile, throwing lavish, extravagant parties in their honour. In reality, it was far harder, as had been proved when she had been forced to take her kingdom back from those who had tried to steal it. Not to mention, the crown had also been the cause behind Emily’s split with her beloved Wyman.

Mere days after Emily had found herself back at her rightful place on the throne, she’d received a letter containing the noble’s congratulations regarding Emily’s success, followed by three pages of apologies due to Wyman’s other duties interfering with the chance of a lasting relationship. After years spent at court, growing up around people who could disguise an insult with a string of words that would confound even the most educated of scholars, Emily could read past all the formalities, all the insinuations in the letter. In short, Wyman had seen the instability that came with being close to the crown, and wanted nothing to do with it, though Emily also sensed the underlying fear of being required to live in the shadow of the most powerful woman in the Isles.

She’d had no time to grieve over the relationship that had fuelled her through the entire scandal with Zhukov. She was the Empress, and she was expected to be put-together and in control at all times. Mourning a relationship that had been her only solace for many months was not permitted. Empresses were meant to be above such common emotions. She had to be made of diamond; harsh, cold, cruel, and impartial.

But after all that had happened…

She’d had a taste of freedom. A taste of what the rest of the world was experiencing while she remained locked up in Dunwall Tower, and she wanted _more_. The inky black mark on the back of her hand itched, and its call grew louder with every passing day. She missed the taste of the Void with its air that tasted of ozone, and the islands made of stone that looked like slate but shone like obsidian. She longed to feel coarse flakes of charcoal rub against her skin as they were propelled through the Void by a wind that had no source, to explore every shifting shadow that filled the place that had alluded the world for so long. She yearned to feel the call of the Void as she pulled herself across time and space, the rush of wind in her hair, and the singing in her bones.

On rare nights, when the clouds were low enough to dance across the rooftops of Dunwall, she would escape the Tower, and make her way through _her_ city. But it wasn’t the same. She would always land on cold, earthly ground a split second later, and the longing would return. There had been many times when she had considered finding one of the Outsider’s shrines, and _begging_ him to take these gifts away if only to have a moment of peace but the Empress could not be seen having to do with anything heretical for heresy resulted in execution, regardless of whoever had committed it. The mark on the back of her hand was dangerous enough but no Overseer could command her to remove any article of clothing, even if it only was a pair of gloves. To possess a rune…Emily knew she would soon find herself in Coldridge Prison awaiting trial if it ever came to light that the Empress worshipped the Outsider.

That did not stop her from dreaming of eyes dark as the depths of the oceans, glinting with the off-white light that whale oil shone with, or hand decorated heavily in rings. She could all but _hear_ him taunting her, finding her attempts to force the ocean to change its tide amusing albeit in vain. They both knew that if there was one person who could command the heavens to change, it would be Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, first of her name, Empress of the Empire of the Isles, and the Outsider’s Marked—though she would deny the last if it ever came up in conversation.

A year passed before she heard from the Outsider again, and when she did, she almost didn’t know where she had been transported to, it had been so long. In one moment, she had been listening to her advisors squabble over the newest predicament—it seemed as though the whales were being scarcer and scarcer by the day, which did not bode well for Dunwall’s future—and in the next, she was in another dimension. The wind rustled hair as black as her mother’s, and shoulders sagged as she took her first breath. The call that had grown to a constant scream she’d learned to ignore had disappeared, replaced by a silence that she had not heard in years. Never had she been happier to have the absence of anything.

“Do you feel it?” The Void hissed with magic as tatters of black silk condensed into a form that Emily had dreamt about every night for as long as she could remember. “Something’s changed.”

Emily almost lost her composure when the Outsider’s eyes black eyes focused on her, a ghost of a smirk dancing over his thin lips. He was an intimidating character, there was no doubt about that. He stood tall, and proud, his hands clasped behind him as though he was certain of every move he was making. She had no doubts that he was. Emily had stood before many imposing people before, and had never felt the need to lower her gaze but she couldn’t keep looking at the Outsider for long. She was in his kingdom. He was everything that the Void was. Everything from...what was it that her mother’s heart had said? Cradle songs of comfort, and bones gnawed by teeth.

“You can sense it coming.” the Outsider continued. “Can’t you, your majesty?”

She felt as though she’d swallowed a mouthful of dust from the Dust District. “Sense what?”

“A shift.” he explained in a voice barely above a whisper. “The winds have changed directions, the cosmos turn backwards, and something has called you here.” A pause in which she could hear nothing but the rushing winds of the Void before his eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”

She shot a look at her surroundings. It didn’t seem as though anything had changed. The Void remained in that cool indigo-grey twilight it had always been in, and the ground beneath her feet felt as real, as sturdy as ever. “I haven’t done anything.” she said but before he could say anything else, and raise more question, she pressed on. “Why am I here?”

For the first time since Emily had met him, the Outsider looked confused. The expression was all too human, and it almost seemed out of place on his ageless face. Neither young, nor old. Neither partial, nor impartial. He was neutrality in its finest form, and he wasn’t allowed to look confused.

“You don’t know.” she accused after a moment. “Here I was thinking that, at last, I had caught your attention again.”

The Outsider was quick to reply. “You never lost it.” he said. Another pause as he examined her tightly pursed lips as she waited for him to elaborate. “I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Yes, you do.” she said, arms crossing like she had seen him do so many times before. She was an empress, and she did not care if he was a god, she expected him to treat her with the respect that she deserved. “You do not simply give someone the powers you gave me, and leave them to handle things by themselves the instant the situation appears to calm.”

If the Outsider was surprised by Emily’s commanding tone, he did not show it. He had returned to his natural state of neutrality, though eyebrow remained higher than the other as though he was surprised that he had ever expected anything else from the Empress. “You did not need me.”

She let out a sigh, knowing that she could not explain her very human emotions that said otherwise to a being that knew everything, but could not comprehend that which made her human. She settled for asking him another question. “What do you mean something has changed?”

“The finest education in all the Isles—” the Outside began, no doubt starting one of his tedious speeches in which he criticised Emily for all her mistakes.

After a year of waiting to hear a word from him, she did not have the patience. “I understand the words, I do not understand what has changed.” she said in a low, dangerous voice. She fell silent, brows knitted as she began to piece together what the Outsider had said not moments before. It was all starting to make sense, though she did not know what was to come. “The whales are dying.”

Any colour that remained in the Outsider’s already pale face disappeared entirely.

“You didn’t know.”

“I am not omniscient.” he said with a hint of almost unnoticeable bitterness that spoke volumes. “Not entirely. I see…glimpses.”

That confession took Emily by a marginal amount of surprise though the longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. It was natural that he would fascinated by people who could change history, if only to provide him a little entertainment in what she was certain was a long, and rather boring existence. “Why is this bad?”

“Aside for damaging your economy?”

“You don’t care about my economy. If you’re worried, it’s because of something else.”

Another glimpse of confusion, though this time it swayed towards concern. The sight of the emotions he was not supposed to have almost made her nauseous. “It’s none of your concern.” he mumbled, reappearing by her side, taking a seat on a stone that had raised itself out of the Void. Hands clasped between his legs, he cocked his head. “It seems, your majesty, that your work is not quite done.”

He disappeared, and reappeared again, this time right in front of her. He took the hand he had marked what felt like an eon ago—but most important _not_ the hand that Emily constantly found people shaking, holding, touching, _kissing_ —and pressed it to his own lips. If it were anyone else, she would have given him a thankful smile for the respectful action but it wasn’t anyone else. It was the Outsider, the man who towered above even her. He stood outside of even time itself, and now, he had kissed her hand though he had done so through a thick layer of fabric.

She _swore_ she saw him smile just as reality came crashing back, the bitter yet addictive taste of the Void being replaced with the grimy, thick air of Dunwall. A velvet chair substituted cool winds, and the Outsider disappeared, only for the large rectangular table surrounded by Emily’s many advisors to take his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I have approximately 0 beta readers, 0 experience on AO3, and 25745 words to edit so I apologise if there are any errors.”


	3. Up She Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emily begins to understand the severity of the situation, and our favourite masked vigilante makes an apperance. (And Emily acts a little too childish for her station.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"At last, we may very well destroy the Outsider, but our world will end before we can enjoy it."_

Too preoccupied in her thoughts and all that had occurred not seconds ago, Emily did not notice the eyes of her council focus on her. “My apologies.” she said, manners that had been drilled into her by Callista overtaking her despite the fact that as Empress, she did not need to apologise to anyone. If anything, they ought to apologise to her. Not that she would ever ask them to. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“We only wished to ask your majesty if a whale oil ration should be put back in place.” her advisor Diane Marowe said, head inclined. “Such as those implemented during the days of the plague.”

Emily pressed the fingers of her left hand to the bridge of her nose. “We are certain that they are disappearing?” she said, then continued without awaiting an answer. “Implement the rationing but not to the same extent. I do not want my citizens getting fearful that their city is to plunge into dark days once again. They have only just got over the tyranny that was my aunt’s short reign. I want a full scale investigation into the matter regarding the whales. If this requires the aid of those at the Academy of Natural Philosophy, then I am certain that the necessary paperwork can be completed quickly, and efficiently. Now, if this situation no longer requires my consultation, I would like to speak to High Overseer Borden.” Her eyes fell upon the aforementioned, and newly-appointed High Overseer who appeared visibly startled by the prospect of a private audience with the Empress.

Inclining their heads, her advisors filed out of the room one by one, leaving Emily alone with no one but High Overseer Halion Borden, and the guards by the door who she promptly dismissed.

“I apologise for the lack of private audiences I have granted you, High Overseer Borden.” Emily said, drumming her finger on the table in what she hoped was perceived as collected nonchalance rather than the worry that seemed to course through her veins. “Are you taking to the position well?”

“Aside from all the talks that I will end up like my predecessors, yes.” Borden said with the flicker of a smile. “I understand that you were close with High Overseer Khulan. My heart ached at his passing.”

“Though I am certain you were pleased to hear that you gained a promotion.” she replied. When he stammered, she let out a small laugh. “I only jest. However, all that aside, there is a matter at hand I feel that only you can help me resolve, though I fear that you may grow suspicious regarding my curiosity.”

“A matter heretical in nature, your majesty?” Borden said with a thick brow arched.

“ _Theoretically_ heretical in nature.” she corrected. “What, may I ask, is the Outsider’s connections to the whales? I have heard him being referred to as a leviathan, in passing. A name, I have also heard being used to describe the whales. Now a situation as grave as the one that we appear to be facing, one might even say that the Outsider has something to do with it.”

Borden took a long time to respond. Such a long time that Emily almost feared getting an answer out of him at all. But time passed, as it always did unless someone intervened, and Borden finally spoke. “It is said that in the deepest reaches of the oceans lies another kind of whale entirely. Leviathans. Larger than any whale brought in to harvest oil from. You must have been told by the Lord Protector of the skeleton of one found in the vault beneath the Boyle Mansion--a gift, from Hiram Burrows to Lady Waverly Boyle.”

She looked back on that day with bitterness, almost infuriated that she had been knocked unconscious and had not been allowed to see what would have been an impressive skeleton before Zhukov had defiled it. “Yes, I have been. I did not realise that those were the bones of a leviathan.”

“Brought in by the ESS Keeper.” Borden said, choosing his next words very carefully. “Measuring over two hundred feet long, if Khulan’s records are anything to go by. It is…said that the bones of such leviathans are used in creating the heretical runes and charms that the Abbey _forbids_ possessing.” It almost sounded as though he was warning her about the repercussions of heresy but Emily was smarter than what he gave her credit for. If she had disguised her mark for a full year, and her father for fifteen before that, then she was safe from the Abbey’s prying eyes--though she would never let her guard down for _that_ would be the moment she’d be caught.

Borden pushed himself to his feet, standing behind his chair rather than in it. “It is _also_ said that these leviathans simultaneously exist in the Void, and in our world. Neither here nor there, but somewhere in between. Many believe that this is why one can pull the Void’s dangerous magic from their bones. They act as a…conduit. A connection. A bridge, of sorts, between this world, and the Void.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking?”

“I find that when things go wrong in Dunwall, the Outsider seems to be connected to it in some way.” she said, and it wasn’t _entirely_ a lie. “The man who killed my mother possessed his powers, as did the woman who tried to take my throne. It would be reasonable to assume that this next catastrophe would be connected to him as well.”

“I have no respect for the Outsider, as you can very well understand.” said Borden. “But if he was causing the disappearance of the whales, and the leviathans with them, I believe he would only be doing himself harm.”

While fully engrossed before, Emily’s attention peaked at hearing those words. “Do explain.” she pressed, her curiosity almost causing her composure to crack.

He let out a heavy breath, “Your majesty, I do not think it right to educate you in these matters--”

“If these matters pose any risk to my citizens, then I have a _right_ to know.” she said, head high. “Will you deny me my right, High Overseer?”

“Of course not.” he said under his breath, though she was aware that he wished to say otherwise. “The whales are not only disappearing; they are _dying_. Countless connections between the Void and us, disappearing in an instant, any power they might have gifted either world left with no host. Power he cannot have, and power that we cannot contain. At last, we may very well destroy the Outsider, but our world will end before we can enjoy it.”

Pain shot through the mark on the back of Emily’s hand at the mere _thought_ of such a future of the Whale God, and she gritted her teeth to keep herself from letting the pain show. “If you know of any things that may be behind this, please alert me, High Overseer. If what you say is true, or is true in any way, we might be facing a future worse than a future where the rat plague was not cured.”

The High Overseer bowed, maintaining eye contact with Emily as he backed out of the room, turning away moments before colliding with the door. Seconds after he had disappeared, Emily covered her face with her hands. Had all the other empresses and emperors dealt with terrors such as those she’d had to deal with since she’d occupied the throne? Knowing her luck, probably not. This had all started when the Outsider had taken interest with so many situated in Dunwall, and it would all end when they were dead.

Unfortunately for the fate of Dunwall but fortunately for her and her father, she did not see that happening any time soon.

She leaned back into her chair, mulling over recent events when the door opened again, and there stood Corvo. He looked a little worse for wear after the incident with Delilah, hair more grey than it was black, and countless wrinkles lining his face but he stood as proud and as powerful as ever. The Outsider’s gift had been forcibly taken from him by Delilah, and for the months following Emily’s reinstating as empress, he had been nothing but a shell of his former self. His heart still called out for the Void, but it was calling out to someone who could not hear. Then, one day, it returned. He had simply woken up with it as though it had never disappeared in the first place. Perhaps it hadn’t. Perhaps it had only laid dormant, and _something_ must have woken it up again.

Briefly, Emily considered if that was when this had started.

“Father.” she said with a smile as he entered the room, eyes the same colour as hers shining in the light. “I assume you have heard--”

“About the whales?” Corvo said in his low, gruff voice. “Yes, and that’s why I’m here. I need your permission to go down to Serkonos. We’ll be struggling here with the whaling industry but Serkonos relies on trade. They’ll be better off than we are, and we’ll need their help. Loans, and the like.”

Approximately zero percent of her father’s words resonated with her. They all but passed through one ear, and left through the other. “You’re leaving?” she said in confusion, startled by the only information that she seemed to have heard. “You can’t. I need you here.”

“You can handle this on your own, Emily.” he reassured. “If you could handle Delilah, you can handle a few whales.”

“Yes, but that isn’t the point--”

“I need your formal permission, please.” Corvo said, sighing. “Don’t make ask again, or they’ll mock me for having to beg my daughter to be allowed to go anywhere.”

“What about your duties as Royal Protector and Spymaster--”

“Jameson will take care of you.”

“I don’t want _Jameson_. I want _you_!” she said, fully aware that she was starting to sound like a child. One look from her father, and she immediately ducked her head. Twenty six, and he still scared her terribly. Though she supposed after all he had done to rescue her during the time of the rat plague, she had every right to be scared of him. She let out a resigned breath, shoulders sagging. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two weeks, if I have any say in it.” he said.

She didn’t want him to go, and she didn’t want Jameson to replace him. Jameson Curnow was a close friend, and a skilled spy but she didn’t quite trust him to protect her by any means necessary. Not like after all that had occurred in Serkonos that she required much protecting anymore. She looked down at the table, “I will inform the council.”

He bowed his head in thanks, then leaned over the back of a chair, hands folded. “You’ll be fine. I’ve seen you in action, Emily. I don’t think I’d even want to go up against you.”

“Delilah did.”

“And look where it got her.” he pointed out.

She fell silent, and nodded once, then again. She had settled for quiet resignation an awful lot lately, but how could she do much else? She had few people wanting to openly support her. Corvo’s position as Royal Spymaster had kept him quite busy after the coup, rooting out those who had supported Delilah and ensuring that they face repercussions. Wyman was no longer here to support her either--though a part of her said good riddance. Even up until now, she had not had the Outsider taking any care as to what was happening. Now, it seemed that the matter concerning the Outsider had changed, though little else had, but if High Overseer Borden’s words were true… Perhaps he wouldn’t be around for very long.

She considered telling Corvo what she had learned but then… Then he would stay, and he was right. They needed to enlist Serkonos’ aid, and Corvo with the unique situation that he was in, being not only the Empress’ most trusted but also the Royal Spymaster _and_ native to Serkonos, he was the only man who could go. Emily wondered if this was the situation her mother had been faced with all those years ago when she’d asked Corvo to do the same for her during the time of the plague.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Corvo said, placing a kiss on the top of Emily’s head before bowing his head once again--this time it was a formality, a consolation, an acknowledgement that she did not condone this one bit, even if her duty forced her too--and in that instant she _despised_ the position her own unique situation forced her to be in. Corvo’s forced him to go to Serkonos, but Emily’s forced her to sacrifice everything she’d ever cared for in order to put duty first.

She was, first and foremost, the Empress of the Empire of the Isles. If relationships prevented her from doing her duty, such relationships had to be terminated. If emotions led to a bias, then she had to ignore them and remain impartial regardless of whether or not she wanted to. If another’s life was on the line, and hers could be traded to save it, she would always have to stand by and watch as an innocent was killed. Even if that innocent was another noble, or Outsider forbid, her father. The crown came before all else, and it would _always_ come before all else.

Because her people came first, and Emily Kaldwin--not Empress Emily first of her name--would always come after.


	4. My Father Promised Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"In his attempt to save Emily, he had spared as many as he could but there were always those who’d pulled their pistol out before you could, those whose sword was a little too close for comfort. And then...Then there were those who simply had it coming."_

A fog had settled over Dunwall’s skyline as night began to creep in, casting the entire city in soft grey as though someone had taken watered down paint, and had brushed it over everything. Moisture clung to the windows of Dunwall Tower, the glass cold to the touch. It was the perfect night to disappear. As the clock tower chimed the hours of the early morning, Emily crept out of her chambers the way she had the night Delilah had locked her there. Her signet ring slid into Sokolov’s lock with ease, the door sliding open without so much as a whisper.

The instant Emily’s boots collided with the rooftop, her entire body relaxed. This was her city, and this was where she belonged. The surface beneath her feet was slick with water from the fog but she was better now. Gone were the mistakes of miscalculating jumps the way she had when she’d escaped Dunwall Tower on the seventh day of the Month of Rain. Gone was her uncertainty that had led to being _too_ cautious. Emily Kaldwin had been shaped by time, and by the tides of the Void until she knew exactly what it was that she had to do.

She hoped that her journey would allow her to be back before her father was any the wiser, but every second she spent worrying about getting caught was another second she lost. The silk scarf pulled taught around the lower half of her face was a reassuring feeling that she had missed ever since she’d returned from Serkonos, but what she missed more, was the feelings of pins and needles that danced across the back of her left hand as she raised it before her. The Void’s song grew to encompass everything else as she _pulled_ herself across the space, leaping from the roof of Dunwall Tower to the streets below. The bonecharm sewn into the arm of her outfit granted her temporary invisibility until she landed with a rush of wind on a nearby roof.

The electricity of the Void in her bones crackled as she gave herself a split second to admire what she had just done. Both times before this, she’d not had the Outsider’s gifts aiding her, and _by the Void_ , was it far more exhilarating this time. Moisture began to gather on her raven hair with every passing moment, and trying not to dawdle, she began to run. She disappeared from one spot, and reappeared in another, conserving her momentum to use it to pull herself to another spot altogether. She granted herself fewer than three seconds between each instance of her power, simultaneously trying to be efficient while conserve her energy but she had to know.

To anyone else, travelling from Dunwall Tower to Slaughterhouse Row would have taken several hours. Emily Kaldwin, fuelled by curiosity, desperation, and the Outsider’s mark, managed to do it in just over one. She almost wished she hadn’t. She almost wished that she’d taken longer, given herself more time to think about if she _truly_ wanted to see this scene for herself.

But it was too late now.

Slaughterhouse Row had grown over the years, expanding from the single street it had been so long ago, to a sprawling district in its own right where the streets ran red with the blood of whales, tainted silver by their oil. The stench of rotting flesh was heavy in the air and noxious fumes was almost stifling but Emily had bigger concerns.

Such as to why the slaughterhouses were completely empty.

Not just of workers—though that was to be expected, given the hour—but of the whales they were meant to be harvesting oil from. For every five slaughterhouses, there was perhaps one whale between them, and the whale was half the size of what she was expecting to see. While the gangs had largely been reigned in with Corvo’s assistance, there were still several groups scattered around large fires, boasting about their day with a bottle of Old Dunwall in their hand. Calling upon the Void, Emily pulled herself down behind a group of two muttering to themselves. She darted behind a box before anyone could notice her, straining her ear to overhear their words.

“They say that even the Watch is pulling outta ‘ere.” a woman grumbled. “You know we’re royally screwed then. The Watch is made up outta a bunch of whiny little babies but they wouldn’t abandon their posts. Not like this.”

“We might be royally screwed, but you know the royals are gonna be too.” her partner replied with a small but angry chortle. “They’re saying that we have weeks.”

“They’re always saying something.” the woman replied. “Especially if they think we’re gonna die. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Emily considered her risks. She could press these two for more answers, and risk getting into a fight, or she could walk away and risk getting caught by people she hadn’t known that were there. Granted, she could always just _flee_ but how far could she run away when the answers were here? Counting her blessings, she stepped out from behind the crate, judging their reactions before saying a word.

The woman only scoffed. “Why you lookin’ at us like we’re gonna bite?” she said, brow raised. “I’m assumin’ you heard that, so why would I wanna kill you when we’re all gonna die anyway?”

“I may require some…help.” Emily admitted. “It never hurts to be cautious.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that scarf?” the man asked. “You lookin’ not to get recognised, or something?”

Behind her scarf, she cracked a smile. “Or something.”

The woman snorted, and lit a cigar using the fire without managing to burn her hands off in the process. “Can’t help you much, lady.” she said. “Work at them slaughterhouses, so unless you want some whale guts—”

Perhaps it seemed that the Outsider’s attention was giving her more blessings than usual. Her luck hadn’t been this great for over a year, and now she just happened to run into a woman who could help her. “Actually, I do not need whale guts but I need something of the sort.” she said. “An answer, to a question.”

“Answers might actually be easier to get than whale guts, these days.” said the woman, handing her cigar off to her partner. “Name’s Hattie. What can I help you with?”

“Meagan.” Emily lied, saying the first name that came to mind. “I need to know when this first started happening. The slaughterhouses shutting down. The whale supply running dry.”

Hattie looked to her partner who only shrugged. She turned back to Emily. “It didn’t get bad until about yesterday. No whale was brought in. At all. The whales you see here today were from the day before. Normally we get at least one, even if it’s a bad day.”

When she was pulled into the Void by someone other than the Outsider, Emily realised with a start.

“In my opinion though, things started going south about eight months back.” Hattie said. “Wasn’t at the place I worked, but rumour has it someone brought in something they shouldn’t have. Nothing’s been right since.”

Eight months back… Emily paled at the approximate date, realising it coincided with the day her father had awoken with the mark back on his hand. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. She muttered her thanks, and an apology for interrupting their conversation before disappearing into a back alley where she pulled herself back up onto the rooftops, mind churning with possibilities. She almost didn’t notice when she ran into a man wearing a mask that resembled a skull.

“I still have to go to Serkonos.” said Corvo Attano though his displeasure was evident.

She nodded solemnly. “I know. Even if the Outsider’s dying, we still have to protect our people.”

“He won’t die.” Corvo said with a little too much conviction and certainty. “He’s the Outsider.”

“He wasn’t the first.”

Her reply caught him off guard, and he looked down to the ground. She had a point. There had always been an Outsider, always had been a representative of the Void. But it hadn’t always been him. It was entirely possible that his time was almost up, his turn almost over, but there was no account of a situation such as this ever occurring. Corvo supposed he predated any existing documents but there had to be _something_. He’d lived in a time where they must have had tales otherwise his killers would not have known that he had to be sacrificed to the Void. He was the only one who would know, but how could he foresee his own death? There were many things that the Outsider could do, but as he had admitted, he was not omniscient. Not even a god such as him could see his own death.

When he looked back up, Emily placed a hand on his arm. “You’re right. My duty lies here. I can take care of this. You need to go to Serkonos.”

It was rare that his daughter changed her mind. She was as stubborn as he, with Jessamine’s pride; a dangerous combination that often resulted in overconfidence, and arrogance, but on this occasion, she was right. Still, as her father, it did not stop him from mocking her. “A change of heart?” he teased. “That’s a first.”

She only rolled her eyes—an action that Callista surely would have condemned—but she looked so much like her mother in that instant that his heart panged. There wasn’t a day that passed that he didn’t miss her but to know that Emily was by his side…he was provided with some sense of comfort. A part of Jessamine lived on in their daughter, even if Jessamine didn’t. He could only hope that he had done right by her, but even if he hadn’t, he knew that she would be proud of the woman their daughter had grown up to be.

Sometimes, he didn’t give her enough credit, he knew that, but as her father he was _supposed_ to challenge her to do better. He knew that Emily couldn’t always understand that but he hoped that she understood just how proud he was of her. He had heard of all the things she had accomplished in Serkonos, heard of how she had handled the situation with a delicate and just hand, exacting justice if and only when it was needed. She had liberated the people of Serkonos from the tyrannical reign of the Duke—who she promptly replaced with his fairer double with none the wiser. She had cured the newest great mind of their age, Doctor Alexandria Hypatia, and had saved countless others.

And he couldn’t have been prouder of her.

Jessamine might have disapproved of Corvo ever condoning Emily taking a life at all but if he didn’t…would she even be alive now? Sometimes, he wondered if Emily—of all people—would be able to have done it. Outsider knew that he couldn’t. In his attempt to save Emily, he had spared as many as he could but there were always those who’d pulled their pistol out before you could, those whose sword was a little too close for comfort.

And then…

Then there were those who simply had it coming.

The Lord Regent had been one of those.

At least Waverly Boyle had survived, even if Corvo hadn’t quite wanted her to.

“I’ll see you back at Dunwall Tower.” Emily said after a long moment, eyes cast downwards. She quickly kissed him on the cheek, a rare demonstration of affection that court often did not permit before calling upon the Void once again. She did not look back. Her heart was too busy racing for her mind to even consider looking back. Did the disappearance of the whales bode the end of all things? She hoped not. She was practically _praying_ not.

 But the Outsider was scared, and that most certainly did not bode well.

Without anyone maintaining the Void, it would devour all the lights in the sky, and what were they supposed to do then?

She knew what the answer was, but could she become the people that had watched as innocent bled out on an altar before them? She would as bad as the people she’d tried to save her kingdom from. Perhaps her intents would be good—saving the entirety of the known world—but she would also be subject someone to spend a millennia in the Void, with their humanity stolen from them. She would be condemning someone to spend a millennia alone.

She had seen what it had done to the Outsider; warped him beyond all sense of the human he had been before, corrupted him so thoroughly with visions of potential futures and their terror that he would never be able to prevent unless he broke the one rule that governed him and meddled.

Could she bring herself to do such a thing, if only to save the world? Even if it meant seeing the death of someone she considered to be a friend, even if he lacked the capacity to feel the same?

Honestly, she did not know but she hoped it would not come to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...much...exposition...but hey, at least the next chapter's a little more fun. And by fun, I mean angsty, and angst as we all know, is not much fun at all...


	5. Bathed in Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"His eyes were pools of liquid night. They were the colour of the darkest depths of the oceans, the oceans in which his leviathans dwelled. Perhaps his eyes saw what they saw; darkness, all around, and a night that would never end."_

Saying goodbye to Corvo hurt. Quite a bit, if she was being honest. Even then, she said her farewells with all the usual politeness and courtesy that she had to show, being the Empress but on the inside… If Jameson hadn’t been by her side, she would have broken into tears. Instead, she put her best face forward and had done nothing as her only ally left in Dunwall left on a boat, leaving her to fend for herself.

It could be said that she was surrounded by people who trusted her, who put their support in her, but that was not true. The nobles of Dunwall did not care who was on the throne as long as they remained in power. They did not come this far by putting someone else’s power before their own. No, Emily could not trust her advisors, nor could she trust the people who had sworn to be her allies. She ruled a court of vipers, dancing above their snapping jaws on a tightrope. A single misstep, and they would strike.

Suffice to say, she most certainly could not trust them.

As Jameson ran through her schedule, she couldn’t help but long for Alexi Mayhew. Her death had hit her the hardest but that tended to occur when you watched one of your closest friends die in front of you. _Especially_ if she’d died because she supported you as Empress of the Isles. It had taken every single moral bone in Emily’s body to trap Delilah within her own painting rather than killing her outright, and in the end she hadn’t done it in the name of justice. She had done it in the name of her mother.

Jessamine Kaldwin, who had once loved Delilah as the sister she truly was.

Jessamine Kaldwin who regretted what she had done to Delilah, and wanted to make it right.

Jessamine Kaldwin who swore to never take a life if it was not necessary, and even then… Even then, she would rather die than raise her hand against her own people.

She’d never— _always_ —done the right thing but she had tried, and that was the legacy Emily wanted to live up to. She wanted to say that she had tried, even if the final result was worse than the start. Even if things were worse than she could have ever imagined, she wanted the world to know that Emily Kaldwin had _tried_.

Emily endured a day of meetings without complaint. She endured listening to countless nobles drone on about their petty, childish problems. Did it truly matter if Esma Boyle had inadvertently insulted a visiting diplomat from Tyvia when the Void threatened to devour them all? Some part of her said that they knew about their dire situation. They knew that the ice they danced on—threw lavish parties on—was starting to crack but to acknowledge the threat would require them to put an end to their lifestyle. To acknowledge their threat, they would have to look up from their pocketbooks. She endured Jameson’s company when her father should have been there—he really did mean well, and they were close but she was already starting to miss Corvo—and endured her lecture from Corvo’s substitute Spymaster, Barnes Donnegan, regarding the rationing, and never once did she complain.

She did what Dunwall would have to do in the coming days. She put her best face forward, and _endured_ , all the while knowing that someone was watching _very_ closely.

Her suspicions came true when Jameson finally gave her a moment’s peace, despite very clearly not wanting to have the Empress die on his watch. He’d settled for allowing Emily onto a private balcony with glass doors where he could watch for any signs of trouble while giving her the illusion of solitude. The door had only just closed on Jameson when the entire world stopped.

She _relished_ the feeling of the Void taking over her surroundings, was all but ecstatic when she opened her eyes and Dunwall’s skyline had been replaced by countless islands of slate the colour of charcoal. Then, before she could do anything, the island she sat upon broke in two. It began as a small fracture that she had not noticed, and in the next, her world had begun to tilt. It was as though the bottom of the island was made of some sort of fabric as the stone did not simply break then fall below, rather it remained connected, a web of black smoke connecting the two parts. A web of black smoke that was quickly being torn in two.

Emily scrabbled to pull herself to the side that remain floating but found herself being pulled downwards to whatever lay below. She tried not to think of the bottomless Void beneath her feet whenever she was here but the situation did not allow her to do that for a moment longer.

Frantically, she tried to pull herself back up to the island, the mark on the back of her hand _burning_ with her desperation as she missed time and time again, fear clouding any sense of rationality. What would happen if she died here? Would she wake up in reality, or would she join those who had faded into the Void in the afterlife? The black webbing tore completely, a hand darting out and catching Emily by the wrist.

“It seems, your majesty,” the Outsider said, his sarcasm poorly concealed, “that you are making a habit of falling into what will surely end in your demise.”

“I assure you, whatever habit I am making, I am not making consciously.” she said, trying not to let her pounding heart show. She glanced back down at the perilous drop mere inches behind her, letting her hand drop from his grip. “That has not happened before.” She spun back round, eyes flashing. “Things are worse than you’re letting on.”

“Are you accusing me, your majesty?” he said, brow raised while a smirk danced upon his corpse-pale lips. He leaned back on another island that had risen up out of the Void, arms crossed as he awaited her answer.

She did not give him one.

She merely met his gaze, expecting him to explain. His eyes, she realised then, were not as black as the Void as so many had described them. The Void was cool, with greys and indigoes, and colours that she could neither name nor describe. His eyes were pools of liquid night. They were the colour of the darkest depths of the oceans, the oceans in which his leviathans dwelled. Perhaps his eyes saw what they saw; darkness, all around, and a night that would never end.

To her surprise, he let out what Emily could only call a resigned sigh. “Things are worse than I am letting on.” he agreed. “Entire parts of the Void are…disappearing.”

“Where to?”

“If I knew where they were, I would not say that they are disappearing.” The animosity in his voice was more passionate emotion she’d ever heard him express. By the ever-so-slight widening of his eyes, it appeared that he’d become aware of the very same thing. “They are either ceasing to exist entirely, or _someone_ is concealing them.”

Emily’s first thoughts jumped to her aunt. “It couldn’t be Delilah, could it?” He shot her a look that quickly confirmed otherwise. “If I understand, someone trapped her in the Void with the assurance that she would stay there. Who’s to say that she hasn’t escaped the painting?”

“Considering the chance that escape from her painting is possible, I suspect that she would not want to.” he said. “She lives in a world she has only ever dreamt of. Not even Delilah would abandon a dream for a nightmare.” He seemed to snap back to focus, abandoning all thoughts of Delilah, in a split second. “I sense you have something you wish to tell me.”

She almost didn’t want to tell him. He could confirm all her fears in a moment, force her to come to the realisation that no matter what she did, Dunwall would fall. “They say that the whales are dying.” she said softly. “The slaughterhouses are all but empty, but I have a strange suspicion that you knew as much already.”

He went to step away from the island he leaned upon but he hadn’t taken more than two steps when he stumbled. She did not know if the tip of his boot had caught on a raised part of the island below them, or if his leg had merely given way as she darted forwards and caught him in her arms but any questions she had about why he’d fallen disappeared when he raised his face. She was used to his skin being so pale that she could see every vein that ran under it but somehow, she knew this was different. It was almost impossible for him to pale—save him losing the scarce amount of redness in his cheeks—but she did not know any other way to describe it. His pallor had gone ashen, his eyes barely keeping open as he tried to get back to his feet but no sooner than he had pushed himself back up, he fell again.

Things, it appeared, were not far worse than the Outsider was letting on.

They were _significantly_ worse than the Outsider was letting on.

She did not know what to do, what to say. She had a god in her arms, and said god was in no state to be doing anything his position required him to do.

“It will pass.” said the Outsider, summoning up the rest of his strength, and straightening. His purposefully-dishevelled hair was even more of a mess than usual, and his eyes the colour of shifting light hitting obsidian had become glossy, distant, as though he was staring at an object a million miles away.

She glanced down at her hands as he pushed himself away from her, trying to disguise the nervous tapping of his index finger against his thigh. “You speak as though this has occurred before.” she said but this time, she did not wait for him to confirm her suspicions. “It is natural for you to be scared—”

“I am not SCARED!” the Outsider’s voice grew to a deafening roar that made her ears ring. His hair seemed to bristle with his fury, every ounce of his being struggling to contain the emotions he had not felt in years. His hands balled into fists, nails digging into the soft part of his palm. After a moment’s pause, he spoke again, his tone now as unperturbed and calm as ever.  “The whales are dying, yes. I have noticed, and as _you_ have noticed, entire parts of the Void are collapsing. I daresay that my _power_ is weakening. Shall I put it in terms more familiar to you as to ensure you understand the gravity of the situation?” He let out a heavy breath, “Time, your majesty, is not something you have on your side. Do not waste what little you have left.”

With a shudder, and far more effort that it had ever taken, the Void shuddered and dissipated to leave Emily sitting on the balcony, her head spinning. She threatened to retch, the mark on her hand burning with a ferocity that she could not focus on anything before her. The world tilted as she slid out of her chair, Jameson running in moments later.

Distantly, she heard him call for a medic and for the guards as he lifted her head up off the ground. Snippets of what was happening managed to make sense but anything other than that was like watching a series of silvergraphs. Faceless figures brought her to her room, placing her down on a bed that seemed far too comfortable after lying on the ground. A doctor placed their fingers to the point where her jaw met her neck. A head rush that had resulted in a fainting spell, they had declared. Nothing serious. Emily knew they were wrong. Whatever was plaguing her was the same thing that was plaguing the Outsider and had no roots in anything human. Perhaps the Abbey could diagnose whatever it was that was wrong but if they discovered anything, Emily would end up behind bars. Which, as the Empress, was not a position she wanted to be in.

When the nurses went to dress her into something more suitable for taking a day off, Emily came back to reality. She made them leave before they could strip her of her gloves, insisting that she was able enough to dress herself, thank you very much. The instant they were all gone, she hid her face in her hands, pulling her knees into her chest.

Did this bode the end of all things?  Understandably, she hoped not but it seemed as though it was turning out that way. Her thoughts couldn’t help but linger on the Outsider’s collapse, and unusual behaviour from earlier. To think that she had thought that the state of the slaughterhouses was bad. The state of the Void was infinitely worse than anything that might be plaguing Dunwall. Yes, Dunwall would fall if the slaughterhouses ran dry, but the entire world would fall if the Outsider did. How was the plight of a loss in economy even comparable to the end of all things? Dunwall would find another means of income but the world could not fend off the Void devouring all things.

But really, if the Outsider could not do a thing, how could she? Delilah had been a threat, _yes_ , but she had been a _human_ threat—a threat that Emily had only _just_ been able to resolve. Now, she’d been tasked with something that even a four thousand year old god thought was impossible to handle. She looked to the portrait of her mother she’d had hung up on the wall. Cool eyes that colour of Karnacan seas looked back out at her, perfectly captured by every single one of Sokolov’s carefully placed brushstrokes. She looked as though she could step out from the canvas and come to life at any moment, but she wouldn’t. Jessamine Kaldwin was dead, and gone, and Emily had nowhere to turn to. She was glad to know that her mother’s spirit was at rest but it was during these rare moments that she longed for her mother’s heart, if only to offer a piece of wisdom.

No, her father was in Karnaca, her mother’s body was buried in the gazebo where she had died, and even Wyman had left. Emily had no one to confess all her deepest worries and concerns to, save for to the Outsider—the very person she required consulting _on_. Then, keeping back a scream, she turned over, and tried to push away everything that had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, relationship dynamics are fun. Also, that Emily/Outsider meeting is actually a scene I rewrote to use in my portfolio, so hey fun facts. We'll start getting into the actual interesting plot stuff next chapter. If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a comment or a kudos.


	6. Just Dark Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"So where do you go to find forgotten things?" "Why to the place that the world has forgotten about, of course."_

Emily woke up from another night of fitful dreams of drowning. She ran a hand over her sweat-dampened face, breath hitching in her throat. She could still feel the water entering her lungs, could still feel ghostly fingertips brushing over her skin. Nightmares, she had been told, would pass given time. These nightmares did not show any sign of stopping in the near future. Instead, they seemed to be growing clearer and clearer with each passing night. She swore she had almost even heard the whisper of her name just moments before she had woken.

Still, as the grogginess of sleep faded away, she could feel the need to leave the confines of these walls aching in her bones. The root of the problem did not lie here in Dunwall Tower. It lay out there, beyond the horizon where the sailors ventured out to sea to bring in the whales whose eyes the Outsider saw through.

The whales.

The woman down at the docks had spoken of something large that the sailors had brought in eight months back; something far larger than any whale that they had brought in before. She had to find it, or whatever was left of it anyway, but she couldn’t do that while she tried to stay as Empress. She couldn’t leave her throne without someone to sit in it but she also couldn’t leave anyone else to deal with this task for her.

No, she had to do this herself.

She could sense her scarf tucked just underneath her bed in a box buried below the floorboards. Was it a gamble? Absolutely, but she needed to do it. She had to do it, for her people. She all but scrambled out from underneath her sheets, clawing the floorboard up with her bare nails.

When she tied her scarf around her face, it was not like the time she had done so the night she had snuck to Slaughterhouse Row. This time, she was thrumming with anticipation and excitement. The spell that had afflicted her several hours prior seemed to have disappeared entirely as she abandoned her nightgown, and pulled on the many layers of her outfit. Shirt, blazer, and then the jacket, her bonecharms sewn into the sleeve. Silence, invisibility, stealth.  Once, she had doubted the validity of the charms’ supposed powers but after Karnaca, after she had seen the Outsider’s power for herself, she had no doubts.

Jameson would be worried to death but she could not let him know. For this to work, she had to do this alone. He would want to join her, and she knew that. This was something she had to do by herself. She squared her shoulders, feeling the Mark crackled under a satin ribbon as she flexed her hand. The rush of power erased any trace of the spell that had passed over her earlier, and Emily Kaldwin ceased to exist. Now, she was just a passing shadow in the night, blessed with the mark of the Void.

It only occurred to her the instant she stepped out onto the rooftops that she did not know where to start, and that was precisely when the Outsider manifested. He was nothing more than a voice in the back of her head, crooning the answer that she needed to hear in his own cryptic way.

“All things that are meant to be forgotten never truly are.” he murmured. “As hard as one may try to forget a certain thing, the more likely it is for one to remember it.”

“So where do you go to find forgotten things?”

She could all but hear him smiling. “Why to the place that the world has forgotten about, of course.”

She was going to press him for more of an explanation but that was when it all clicked. There were few places that the world had forgotten about, and there was only one that was spacious enough to conceal a leviathan, if they were really as large as rumour said: the Rudshore Chamber of Commerce.

It was one of the few places left in Dunwall that the Watch hadn’t even tried to renovate. It had been completely destroyed during the flood, and would have just been a massive waste of money that Dunwall needed in the upcoming days. However, that was not the only reason Emily hadn’t ever pressed for its renovation. The Rudshore Chamber of Commerce had also been home to her mother’s killer. She couldn’t help but find it ironic; the man who killed her mother taking up residence on a road named after her, with a statue of the late Empress just outside his door.

Emily moved with haste. Even though she’d ordered for the Watch patrols to lighten up after Delilah, Corvo had still insisted on having enough men out there that they could foresee an attack before it occurred. She hadn’t stopped him then but after sneaking out for the second time in a week—this time with the intention to not return until she understood what was happening—she was starting to regret her decision. She only _just_ managed to pull herself up onto a nearby ledge as a guard rounded the corner.

The last time she had snuck out, she had been too preoccupied with answering the call of the Void that she had been careless. She hadn’t even noticed Corvo following her which was an unacceptable, careless mistake. She had no one looking out for her this time. If she made a single mistake, she would be dealing with it on her own. If the guards caught her, she would be the one paying the price. She had tried her best not to ever raise a hand against one of her own guards, especially those that were not affiliated with the corrupt Duke or Delilah but the men that were below her now… They were good men who had a family to return to at the end of the day, and she was their empress. Was she not failing to do the one thing she was charged with if she slaughtered the people she was supposed to protect?

No. Her hands would have to remain as bloodless as possible this time. The people she had killed in Karnaca had been out of necessity, and she had not done it for pleasure. Emily had always been the kind of person who would rather see a person get their comeuppance rather than see them six feet under.

She peered over the edge of the balcony. Three guards wandered below. She could link them all together and knock one out, but as Emily looked up, she noticed the roof of the building she was standing in connecting to another. If she had to come back this way, she would still have to deal with the guards but for now, she could try to avoid them at the very least.

She growled, and shook her head as she clambered onto the rooftop of the building before her, and continued on. Making her way through the streets surrounding the Hound Pits was easy. She had instructed the pub remain standing despite the Loyalists’ betrayal, even if the end had been a sour one. There were many days that she missed Lydia and Walter—despite how irritating the latter could be—as well as Cecelia. Perhaps, on the rare days, she even missed Callista. Who was she kidding? She always missed Callista. The day she had watched Callista leave for the sea had been a rather depressing one. She was the last living embodiment of Emily childhood, and as she set off, Emily had realised that she was a grown woman now. She no longer needed a childhood tutor, and it was because of this that Callista had left.  As she jumped between two houses, she wondered where Callista Curnow was now.

While the floodgates had been rebuilt, and the water pumped away, what was formerly known as the Flooded District was barely in a better state than it had been all those years ago. Reminders of the plague still marked the streets; empty canisters of food had been thrown about, and stolen mattresses remained around empty fire pits where the ill had once taken to sleeping. It sickened her to think that the Lord Regent had thrown all those afflicted by the plague into here. She could imagine it now, weepers walking the roads, shaking in the cold that came off of the water. Nowhere to turn, their last moments ending in fear before the rats that followed them consumed them.

It almost nauseated her to even think about it.

The roads still smelled of stale water, and there was little anyone could do about it but Emily moved down to ground level, the empty streets far easier to traverse than the rickety rooftops. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a strange looking path that someone appeared to have set up as though some sort of training course ending in a several metre tall vertical wall.

She was getting close now, she could tell, if not by the odd training course then by the heaviness of the air. It was no wonder that no one wished to return to the Flooded District, even if the Watch managed to renovate it completely. The space was tainted with the magic of the Void that was so thick, it even made Emily’s skin crawl. She looked up from her feet just as the Chamber of Commerce came into view. Pathways constructed of metal plates still crisscrossed the skyline, granting enemies an innumerable number of places to hide from her. She passed her Void-enhanced gaze around her surroundings before focusing on the Chamber of Commerce.

Before the flood, it must have been an impressive building. In her mind’s eye, she could see it now. Pillars of white marble scraped the sky, her mother’s stone figure watching out over the street below. Emily could not say what it was like to die, or what came after, but some part of her hoped that her mother watched through those stony eyes at her daughter as she set out to save her kingdom.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Outsider manifest in a plume of black smoke, looking as nonchalant as ever. Whatever illness he had suffered from the day before had passed and under the cool light of the moon, his skin seemed to glow with the same luminescence of a river krust pearl.  “Three empresses have walked the Void. Two of them remain there now.”

“Is this your way of telling me to be careful?” Emily said with what was perhaps a touch too much animosity as she searched for an open window from which to enter the building. The path of metal sheets might have once led to an opening but it had long since been boarded up, and Emily was in no mood to spend a copious amount of time breaking it down. The roof, however, had collapsed a long time ago, leaving nothing standing but the rafters. It was quite a ways up, and a single misstep would result in Emily bleeding out on the pavement below but she could do it as long as she remained focus.

However, she suspected that the Outsider’s company would prove to be most distracting.

“I would not dare to instruct an empress.” the Outsider said calmly.

She didn’t grace him with an acknowledgement though his sarcasm made her bite back a laugh. She stepped around a loose brick as she headed towards a set of limestone stairs whose sharps edges had been rounded down with erosion. The Outsider didn’t follow her on foot, merely reappeared on a ledge closer to her destination, eyes flashing with curiosity. She could all but feel him watch her as she walked the paths that Daud must have walked so many years ago. Were the Outsider’s Marked doomed to take the same road time and time again? She had no doubts that if her mother hadn’t instilled the value of mercy in Corvo that he would have taken after Daud. Corvo Attano could be ruthless at times, Emily had seen it for herself. She could not forget the rare nights he’d come back to the Hound Pits before she’d fallen asleep, blood staining the hem of his coat.

But he had tried to save as many as he could.

He had never taken the life of those afflicted by the plague, had spared those who had never intended for things to end up the way they had, and had shown mercy to those who swore to change. Emily would never know just how many people her father had killed in order to protect her but the people that remained alive spoke volumes.

Campbell, his visage forever marred by the Heretics Brand, and expelled from the Abbey he had once revered. Waverly Boyle, forced to abandon the only world she had ever known. The Pendleton Twins—Pendletwins, as she had used to call them—had not met such a pleasant fate, being worked to death in their own silver mines but they were paying the price for the crimes they had committed. The _only_ person Emily knew Corvo had killed was Hiram Burrows for his crimes. No punishment would be sufficient for the man who had introduced a plague upon Dunwall that had killed thousands.

Even then, Daud had been spared.

Daud, the man who had killed her mother. Daud, the man who killed and killed and killed without an ounce of remorse, until he went a step too far. She despised everything that he stood for. She despised everything he had taken away from her but she understood what Corvo had done. The regret Daud was allegedly filled with would resort in a life full of torment as he obsessed over his mistakes, as he longed to fix what he had done, as he, with all his Outsider-given power, was unable to change a single thing.

His punishment had not been what he had spent years exacting.

His punishment was to live in place of all those he had killed.

In truth, Emily did not know which was worse. Some part of her almost hoped that wherever Daud was now, he was happy in some way. Emily could not hold what he had done against him forever. After more than a decade, she still mourned the loss of her mother but then again, after more than a decade, she would not wish her misery upon anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know who's going to show up next chapter... Also, I don't have a beta reader so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know, and I'll try and get 'round to fixing them.


	7. In This Miserable Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You, my dear, have a fire in your eyes, and I am curious to know why it burns."_

“You walk a path your father walked once.” the Outsider said from somewhere behind Emily as she peered over the edge of the metal path, his presence causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. She knew that if she turned, she would find nothing but empty air. “Though your intentions differ. You seek to understand. He sought revenge. Revenge, he never exacted.”

“The punishment of regret is more of a punishment than death.” she muttered.

He knew who she was talking about without her having to elaborate. “The Knife of Dunwall.” he all but scoffed. “Meagan Foster searches for him now, searching for the closest thing she had to family. With every passing day, she comes closer to finding them. What she has yet to realise is that they are not hiding. If they knew how close she was, she would find them tomorrow.”

“They?” Emily said, raising a brow as she turned away from the jutting overlook, turning her gaze towards the window that had once substituted as a door, many sheets of metal and wood preventing her from entering.

“Daud did not leave Dunwall alone.” the Outsider murmured, and then with a flash of black, appeared on the ruined upper floor of a building, nothing remaining but the corner of a wall, and a chimney that stretched towards the sky. “There was another.”

She clamped her mouth shut, knowing that she would not be able to pry much more of an explanation from his lips. She followed his gaze, focusing upon the chimney. If she managed to climb on top, she might be able to Reach across to the rooftop of the Chamber of Commerce. It would be far, and a single slip would result in her death but it seemed like the most logical way of entering rather than trying to scale the narrow ledges. She made her way onto the second floor of the ruined building, rotten wood creaking under her feet.

“Are you certain that the body is in there?”

“I never said as much.” the Outsider said. “It was you who made this assumption.” Her heart fell. After all the effort she had taken to get here, was he only now just saying that she would not find the body of the leviathan here? Noticing her growing anger, the Outsider cracked a small smile. “But what you seek is inside, yes.”

If he wasn’t already dying, she would have killed him.

Instead, she settled for cursing under her breath, trying to position herself to pull herself up onto the chimney. The Mark crackled under her skin as she was propelled through the air, barely managing to land on top of the narrow surface. She steeled herself as she glanced down at the ground many storeys below. If she miscalculated this… No. She wouldn’t. She had made it across jumps as large as this without the Outsider’s gifts and she would be damned if she made a mistake now. The Mark began to glow as she called upon the Void, the Outsider watching with a cool disinterest from below. Then, she was flying through the air, instinctively redistributing her weight as she landed.

She crept onto a partially broken rafter, her Void-enhanced gaze allowing her to peer through the darkened room as she jumped from there onto a bookshelf, then onto a set of stairs. A bed lay tucked away in the corner, its sheets surprisingly intact after almost a decade of disuse.

That should have been the first sign

The second should have been the many sheets of paper sprawled across the desk below the loft, the ink still shining wet in the pale moonlight.

It was only the third sign that sent Emily’s heart racing, the faint whisper of footsteps that she never would have caught without the Outsider’s gifts. She shot the Outsider, who had materialised on what must have once been Daud’s bed, a frantic look of panic, hazel eyes widening. Just as the door creaked open, Emily pulled herself back to the rafter she had jumped down off of.

Her vision cut straight through the dark to reveal two figures, one distinctly female with short cropped hair and an asymmetrical jacket, and the other male with closely trimmed hair, and a long scar running down the length of his face. She recognised the latter instantaneously, and if it were not for the quiet presence of the Outsider—a presence, she knew, only she could see—she might even have been sick. She was staring into the face of the man who had taken away everything that had been important to her. She gritted her teeth if only to keep from speaking out of surprise.

“You know we have the money to rent out a place.” the female muttered, a Gristolian accent tainted with that of a Serkonan one, and Emily could see her form turn to Daud. “Are you being sentimental?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Daud said in that growl that still haunted Emily’s nightmares. “We’re meeting a guest.” It was then that he turned to look directly at her, mouth stretching into a lopsided smile. “Your Majesty.”

Emily’s pounding heart stopped in a split second. She was torn between answering his call, or simply disappearing back into the night, but the Outsider had promised that her answers lay in this building. Perhaps her answers did not take the form of the body of a leviathan, but took form of the man blessed by the great Leviathan himself.

The woman looked up at Emily, and then without a word, let her sword fall from her waist. It was promptly followed by a pair of matching daggers, a pistol, a crossbow, as well as a handful of grenades before she even began to make it up the stairs towards her. “You have grown.” she said in a voice that sounded remarkably familiar. “You do not remember me, but I am an ally of your father.” She paused. “And I would have once considered myself one of your mother’s closest friends.”

“Who are you?” Emily asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“It matters little who I am.” she said, raising her left hand to show Emily the same mark that she had. “What matters is _what_ I am.”

Emily’s mouth went dry as she dropped to the ground, pulling her scarf from around her face. “The answer, to the question I never asked.” she said. She could feel the other woman poking at her mind, extracting the secrets Emily never wanted to address. Was this what it had felt like to the people she’d asked her mother’s heart about? This feeling of pins and needles pricking at her skin.

“You searched for a leviathan, and the Outsider promised an answer.” the woman said, grey eyes locked on her. “He never said that the two were correlated.” She glanced back at her shoulder at Daud. “And he told you that she would be here.”

He didn’t say a word, and Emily couldn’t bear to look at him to see if he had responded nonverbally.

“We were all brought here for a reason,” the woman said, “and we were each only aware of one aspect of the equation. _You_ know what is happening, _I_ know why things are occurring, and _he_ knows what we have to do.”

She ran her tongue over her lower lip; somewhere between here and Dunwall Tower, it seemed that she had split it. She could still taste the blood though it seemed as though it had long since dried. She knew that she had no other option. She couldn’t decline the woman’s aid. If the Outsider had brought them together, he had done so for a reason.

Emily pushed her shoulder back, raising her chin. “I will not forgive him. If this proves to be a conflict of interest, I shall not stay.”

The woman cracked a small smile. “I have never forgiven him.” she said. “Not in all these years.”

Below them, Daud snorted. “You made me break into Dunwall Tower to pay my respects.”

“ _You_ were the one that admitted that it was necessary.”

Emily blanched at the idea of Daud being so close to her home but pushed back all her fears. “It’s nice to know that you have some humanity left.” she shot at him.

Daud did not argue. His shoulders simply sagged, and he glanced down at his feet. “There hasn’t been a day that has passed that I do not long to change the things I have done.” he mumbled. “If I could trade her life for mine—”

She held up a hand. “No.” she said. “I despise what you did but I have seen what would have occurred should my mother have lived. Dunwall would have burned to the ground during the plague. You may have destroyed that which I once identified as my life, but you have saved the lives of so many others.”

Half a second later, she was standing before Daud. She was still terrified of him, there was doubt about that, but she was the empress now. _She_ was the one who held the power, _she_ was the one who had the Outsider’s attention, and _she_ was no longer the scared little girl she had been all those years ago. She did not hesitate in striking him, the force of her blow forcing him to take a step back. She did not strike him with the palm of her hand. That would have been too kind. Her hand curled into a fist, and she threw it forward, the impact of hitting bone sending shockwaves up her arm.

“That was for my mother.” she hissed.

“Daud, do tell me you saw that coming.” the woman said, a moment later. When no response came, Daud merely touching the quickly-forming welt across his face, she broke into a fit of laughter. “You are getting old.”

“You are as old as I am.” he replied within a split second.

“Ah, but it does not show.” she replied, a dark swirl that strongly gave off the impression of the Void opened, and she stepped through, reappearing on the floor below. Emily knew that the Outsider’s gifts varied but she had not expected them to vary so greatly. Glancing a look down at Daud’s gloved hands, she wondered what it was that he could do. “And that is what counts, no?” She turned to Emily, ducking into a low curtsey. Her accent faded to that of a highborn Gristolian noble, “Lady Elizabeth Bushford. Daud, I understand, requires no introduction.”

Though the name sounded familiar, Emily could only recall her history lessons regarding the noble families of Dunwall. The Bushfords had been one of Dunwall’s founding families, around longer than the Kaldwins had ever been, and Emily could not recall a time in history when a Bushford was not standing by the ruler of the Isles’ side. Yet, she had heard nothing of their family since she had come into power. “Have we met?” asked Emily.”

“You must have been ten, I do not suppose you remember another one of your mother’s friends.” Elizabeth said. “I do wish I had been there to support you through what must have been agony but…” She ducked her head, letting out a bitter laugh at the memory. It had been years ago, and it was clear that it did not make it any less painful. “I spoke out too much against the Regent. He almost had me executed for heresy until my father took the blame. Funny, how I turned out in the end.” Her Mark glowed briefly before she shoved her hands into her pocket. “I still have my title but everything that once belonged to my family was… _is_ gone.” She seemed to struggle with her emotions for a second, forcing herself to smile if only for Emily’s sake.

“I helped your father end the Regent’s reign. I understand that it does not seem believable, but I was there throughout his entire… Well, adventure or journey are the two closest words I can muster up but they really do not convey the severity of the situation. Waverly Boyle, before she began her illicit, amorous relationship with the Regent, was one the few people I called a friend. Did you honestly believe that Waverly managed to put down the jackal that was Lord Brimsby?” She all but scoffed, her upturned nose crinkling. “No. That was my doing, though I daresay Waverly would have given it her best bet. However, it really is dangerous to murder someone so close to you. Much better to hire a professional.”

“You, El, are _not_ a professional.” Daud muttered, sighing. “You’ve only been at this for a decade.”

“Almost two, now.” she corrected tetchily. “And even you cannot deny that I handled Brimsby _quite_ efficiently.” She turned back to the Empress, and her smile seemed far more cunning than it had moments ago. “I will not go as far to say that am—or _was_ , I suppose, now—proficient at this particular field as Daud is. Although I will say that my particular gifts do allow for me to enter and leave without a single soul ever knowing I was there. Daud’s gifts are, how you say, _a touch_ more on the aggressive side. I did try to refrain from disgracing your mother’s memory, I assure you, but there were times that I did what I must to save you. If it was not in your name, I am certain that your father would not have allowed me to continue, though he was _remarkably_ suspicious when the Crown Killer began to terrorize the Isles.” She clapped her hands, clearing away all discussion of the past. “But enough talks of the past. You, my dear, have a fire in your eyes, and I am curious to know why it burns.”


	8. Familiarity Breeds Contempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"He has heard of you. Equal parts ruthless and kind. He does not know what you will do now. Will you show the mercy he showed your mother? Or will you make him relive her last moments?"_

It was weird to see the former Knife of Dunwall making his way around the room, turning on oil-powered portable stoves, and setting kettles. It was too human. Too ordinary. Every time she had imagined him, he was wielding a sword, most times running an image her mother through with the same sword. She didn’t ever stop to consider that Daud, despite all his monstrous behaviour, was still human. It was an interesting sight nonetheless. Every time he required something, he would Blink closer to it the way her father did, disappearing in one second, and then reappearing the next. He used the gift without care, many years of honing his powers resulting in them taking less of a toll on him than on her.

“Transversing.” Elizabeth corrected absentmindedly, taking a sip from a glass of Old Dunwall. Before Emily could even open her mouth, the noblewoman interjected. “It is called Transversing, not Blinking. Your father’s gifts, whilst similar, differ greatly. He can move to any place he can see, Daud can move to anywhere he can imagine. Often, it actually helps to be unable to see the place. Improves concentration.” Emily took note of the difference, still marvelling at how diverse the Outsider’s gifts was, and just as she began to wonder what the strange portal-teleporting Elizabeth did was called, the woman answered her question. “I call it Stepping. Shadow-Stepping, if we are being precise, but it really is a mouthful. I momentarily pass through the Void, and appear in a spot of my choosing. Used to take me _ages_. Now I can do it in a blink of an eye.” The wrinkles around her steely eyes became deeper as she smiled. “Pun intended.”

For a noblewoman turned assassin, Emily had to admit that was starting to get along with her. Though, come to think of it, she too was a noblewoman turned assassin, and Piero used to say fish of the same scale grouped together.

 “You know everything I am thinking before I say it.” It wasn’t a question, though she had very nearly phrased it as one. Elizabeth couldn’t help but crack a smile at the wording, but Emily pressed on until she could get in otherwise. “Is that one your gifts?”

“Not everything.” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “Too much, yes, but not all of it. I can…pull a man’s darkest secrets from their minds. Manifest them, if I pleased, or manifest images of my own creation. An Illusion, I call it. It feels there, and it appears as though it is there, but really—”

“But really it’s an illusion.” Emily finished, watching Elizabeth’s Mark flare gold as Emily’s childhood doll appeared in her hand. Almost instinctively, she reached out to touch it. The cloth felt as soft as she remembered, still scented with her mother’s perfume. The memory stung but as Daud slammed a tray full of teacups onto the table between her and Elizabeth, the Illusion shattered.

“Stop tormenting the girl.” he growled, beginning to pour the tea.

“There would not be a thing to torment her about, dear, if you had not killed her mother. I will give her the little solace that I can.” Elizabeth said with the kind of resigned exhaustion that said they’d had this conversation many times. “I understand that you do not feel the same but really, she is the Empress. I am certain if she had any objections, she could voice them. Simply because you are not fond of me casting an Illusion of Billie—”

Emily’s ears pricked. “Billie?”

“Old second-in-command of mine.” Daud grumbled. “Betrayed me, and was going to kill both me and Elizabeth here. Ended up sparing her life, and she fled. Don’t know where she is now; probably dead, if she knows what’s good for her.”

 The Outsider materialised on the bookshelf, a vision only Emily could see. He leaned back on his hands. “My dear old friend. Still as bitter as ever.” His black eyes drifted towards Emily. “Still, you have to give him credit. He did put his life at risk to keep Delilah from possessing you when you were younger. He forgot that Delilah was not a rose. She was a weed, and weeds live on long after you’ve cut off their head.”

She grimaced at the Outsider’s words but turned back to Daud. “She’s alive. In Serkonos, the last time I saw her. Ship’s captain.”

Elizabeth glanced down at the ground under long lashes, “Goodness, we really are not having very good luck, are we? The Outsider pairs us up with the girl whose mother you slaughtered for a bit of coin you did not really need, and now Billie is alive and well.”

“She wasn’t well until I interfered with time.” Emily said under her breath.

“I will do you the courtesy of not asking you to elaborate because I do wish to hear this story, and now really does not seem to be the appropriate time.” Elizabeth said with the sort of dismissal that said she was used to others being around when she argued with Daud. Her steely grey eyes met Daud’s blue ones, “Do not tell how to clean up the mess you have made.” She shoved past Daud, giving him a look that spoke a thousand words, her shoulder slamming into his as she Stepped through the Void and disappeared, leaving Emily alone.

With Daud.

The blunted Knife of Dunwall poured both Emily and himself a cup of tea. “Sugar?” he said.

His domestic behaviour almost took him by surprise. If she had been told all those years ago that she would be having tea with her mother’s assassin, she would have rolled her eyes the way Callista used to scold her for. Yet, there Emily was, the Outsider still watching, still twiddling his thumbs, with the Knife of Dunwall no more than a metre away.

“Three.” she answered. While she had grown out of her preference for sickly sweet treats—if not for practicality, as Corvo would go out of his way to ensure that his daughter ate healthily and the hassle that ensued was exhausting—she still took her tea with enough sugar to give Corvo a heart attack. They sat in silence as they sipped at their tea, grateful for it if only to provide themselves with a distraction.

She had often wondered if Daud regretted what he had done, during those long, fitful nights at the Hound Pits. Her nights had been plagued by the Outsider’s curiosity even then, and those nightmares were hardly anything in comparison to the recurring dreams she now had. Still, in those rare moments of quiet, her mind turned over—and over, and over, and overandoverandover—Corvo’s decision to spare the man who had taken her mother’s life. He had offhandedly mentioned one day while in Court that a life of suffering was worse of a fate than death. He had been speaking of those immune to the plague but still living in the wake of it, but Emily was starting to realise that much of Corvo’s wisdom did not stem from the education he’d never received, nor being a poor boy suddenly thrust into high society. His wisdom came from the things he had done, the things he had seen.

Daud had only been part of the machine that had killed her mother. He was nothing more than the knife that she had been stabbed with—a rather fitting position for the Knife of Dunwall, she couldn’t help but think. That was not to say that he could not be held accountable for his actions. He may have been the equivalent of a soldier following orders, but soldiers should know corruption when they saw it. Though, she supposed, to take action against all that was bad in the world, one first had to be _good._

Daud was not a good man.

The Outsider hovered over her shoulder, appearing in a cloud of ash and a wave of whispers. “He did her a mercy.” he said, slowly, carefully. It was a truth Emily did not want to confront but she was at the age where denial of the truth was nothing but childish. “His blade was the last thing her flesh felt but it was better than the alternatives. Even as she lay bleeding in the place where she had once confessed to her closest advisors, the deepest, darkest secret she had tried to ignore for years—the place where three words that she confessed led to you sitting here right now—it was better than the alternatives. Daud could have killed her slowly. It would have broken you. You would not be the woman you are now.

“There were other paths. There were others. There were enemies. There were allies. Hundreds of different choices. Hundreds of differences. There were few paths where she would survive, and of all the paths that occurred, it all ended with Daud. Hundreds of more paths as to how he could do it. And thousands of paths of what came after. He chose the one I did not expect him to. Years of boredom, and the decision to mourn your mother spurned my interest.” The Outsider tilted his head, looking down at Daud’s trembling hands. “He is nervous. Corvo always showed mercy to those that needed it most. He has heard of you. Equal parts ruthless and kind. He does not know what you will do now. Will you show the mercy he showed your mother? Or will you make him relive her last moments? The cold of your blade entering his stomach, and forcing him to watch as he bled out on the floor? Perhaps he would even die in the arms of the woman he adores above all else.”

Envisioning the same thing happening to her mother, Emily’s fist clenched so tight that she could feel her bones _creaking_ with her strength. She barely registered the handle of the teacup shattering in her hand.

Daud looked up lazily, his scarred brow raised. “Are you going to kill me, your Majesty?” he asked. “Would you like to do with my blade?” He chuckled, almost to himself, and glanced back at the table when she did not move, letting the blood drip down her sleeve. “Hello, Outsider.”

Out of the corner of her eye, the Outsider’s form rippled, solidifying further. With a wave of his hand, Emily’s hand healed, the skin still pink and stinging. “Daud.” he greeted, drawing his name out. “Here you sit, before what will be your legacy—”

“Oh, cut the shit.” Daud said. “I know you just gave her one of your speeches, and I don’t think she needs to hear another one. There are three of your Marked in one building. Three people from across the entire damned Isles, and you have called us here for a specific reason. Tell me why.”

The Outsider merely wrinkled his nose, obviously irritated that Daud had dared to cut him off. He remained silent, a cloud of black smoke still waving around his feet now planted firmly on the ground.

“He’s dying.” Emily said in a quiet voice. To voice her fears aloud snapped her reverie, and she could feel the dull throbbing pain of her hand. She did not know if it would scar. She hoped not. As Empress, her face, and her hands were constantly on display. Visitors took one look at her cold visage, and pressed their lips to her hands. Her skin still buzzed from the feeling of the Outsider’s lips brushing her Mark.

The Outsider’s lips curled in distaste. “Dying would require to be alive in the traditional sense of the word.” he said. “My connection with the Void is…fading. I imagined this to be the aftermath of Delilah. She took an anchor, and weakened its links. This is not her, yet I cannot see what it is.”

“And Elizabeth _can_.” Daud said quietly. He looked to Emily. “But only if she knows what to look for.”

“And you, Daud, will have to sharpen yourself to become the sword that can put an end to it.” the Outsider continued without breaking his stride. He too, focused on the young Empress. “Unless that sword is turned against you.”

The moment of silence that followed his words was suffocating. A minute passed, then another. Finally, Daud stood, unsheathing his sword and placing it down on the table before the Empress. The clatter of it caused her ears to ring, but it was the sight of it that made her sick to her stomach. Not too long ago, her mother’s blood had decorated that blade, and judging by Corvo’s story of duelling Daud one-on-one, so had his, and how many other innocents’ blood before that?

“I will tell you what I told your father.” Daud said in a soft voice. “My life is in your hands.”

“I don’t want your life.” she hissed, pushing herself up to her feet as her composure fractured. She pointed furiously to him, signet ring flashing in the light. “This man never showed my mother mercy. What he showed was efficiency. Mercy would have made it painless. Mercy would have stopped his blade. _Neither_ of which occurred.”

“I would ask you a question, Emily Kaldwin.” Daud said, carefully enunciating her name. “But I think I know the answer. Shall I ask it anyway?” He did not wait for her response. “Tell me: would you kill to protect your father?”

She knew what he wanted her answer to be, and she hated that he was right. She would. In a heartbeat. She had, when she was down in Karnaca. She had killed to take back her throne, and more importantly, to save her father. Her teeth gritted. “Our situations are not the same.”

Her eyes flashed as they met Daud’s, and the old man simply cracked a smile and said: “Are they not?”


	9. The Night is Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Who was she? Was she the woman she’d been raised to be? The woman Daud had forced her to be? Or was she this new, wry thing with eyes that flashed with the Void’s indigo skies, and who was starting to put the Outsider above her own people, even above herself?"_

“Are they not?” Daud repeated when Emily began to seethe. “I had a family of my own. I was training them to be assassins, _yes_ , but they were family. I treated Billie like one of my own, which is why her betrayal made me want to quit altogether. Do you think if I had refused the Regent, he would not have come after them?”

“You are as guilty as a soldier following orders that he knows is wrong.”

“What else should I have done? Die for my morals?”

“ _Yes_.”

His face fell. “Then somebody still would have died in my name—more, perhaps, if the Regent went after my men—and your mother _still_ would have been killed by someone else.”

To many, the Empress was a cool, collected figure. Always in control, and rarely ever did anything impulsively or without thought. Callista, had she been here now, would have reprimanded the Empress until Emily’s ears bled. In all honesty, she might have tried to send the Empress to bed without dinner, regardless of how old she was. Today, however, Emily did not have enough patience to keep up appearances. She barely registered reaching across, pulling Daud through the air. He landed at her feet, stumbling as he tried to keep his balance.

“If you intend to invoke sympathy, I assure you, you are inspiring nothing but pity.” she hissed. Then, just before she could do anything further, a hole opened in the floor beneath her, and the Void whipped past her ears as she fell through it, and landed on the floor beneath the loft, the hole snapping shut a second later.

Elizabeth stood in the doorway, hand resting on her hip. She scanned the scene, stiffening when she saw the Outsider before cracking into a smile. “You are supposed to be the mature one, or was the possibility of your two Marked killing each other too fascinating?”

“I do not intervene.” the Outsider said calmly, reappearing on the bookcase once more, kicking his feet up.

The noblewoman-turned-assassin did nothing but scoff. “Your Majesty, while I may come from a place of bias, may I suggest that we refrain from slaughtering one another? I daresay we each have our own uses.”

Emily brushed the dust off of the tail of her coat, bristling. “Very well.” The manners Callista had drilled in her head began to return as she straightened her back. Her gaze drifted to the Leviathan who was watching his three chosen with great interest. “What would you have us do?”

The Outsider pursed his lips, looking more nervous than she’d seen him before. Even when he’d told her the story of his rebirth, he had been relatively collected, though his hatred of those who had made him the Outsider had been barely contained. Now, he seemed to be on the verge of tears, obsidian eyes glittering with something Emily could not put her finger on. “There was a village off the shores of Pandyssia.” he began. “It stood by the shore, and when the tide came in one day, half of it was swept away. All save for one house. Then, they rebuilt the town on stilts. No one else would drown. The night after a particularly heavy storm, the tide came in, and what happened before, happened again. Once again, the house remained standing. The villagers said that those who resided within had called up the seas. Because of them, the grounds were cursed, doomed to be swept into the sea.

“Others knew better. They recognised the constellations under which the boy of this family had been born. They recognised that the sea was trying to reclaim that which was theirs. The night they went to tell his parents, the town descended upon the family. None survived. Save for the child. Then, mere hours later in an attempt to appease the seas, the boy’s throat was slit, and he…” The Outsider trailed off, almost at a loss for words. “The village moved. They boarded the boats they used to hunt whales in, and travelled across the seas. The great cold expanse of Tyvia was incomparable to the warmth of the Pandyssian seas. They settled there, and made another home.” He disappeared in a split second, reforming by Daud’s desk, scowling. “And they made the boy they had damned a shrine, hidden deep underground, and buried the knife they had used. The world would forget what they had done but there were always those who did not.”

Emily had heard this story before, she realised, as the story came to an end. The Outsider had never once told Corvo about his past, she had been told on numerous occasions that she knew more about the Outsider than him, but she was starting to piece together the rest of it. The knife that had almost been used to almost destroy the entire world… It had disappeared. By all means, it was destroyed. The entire place had been demolished, his magic all but bringing the roof down on their heads.

But no one had ever found the knife.

And, for that matter, no one had ever found his body.

Fear began to plant its seeds in Emily’s mind. She wrung her hands, a pressure growing on the hollow of her throat. She had dealt with this once already, and the prospect of having to face this once again sent a shiver up her spine. She had barely survived the first time, and even now with the Outsider’s gifts… Could she face him this time, without the aid of her father?

She had often suspected that the Outsider could read her mind. He knew too much about her personal stances on her situations to _not_ know what was going on within the Empress’ head. She couldn’t begin to fathom how many would kill to have the ability to see what went on in their Empress’ head, if only so they could extort her. A muscle in the Outsider’s jaws twitched as he seemed to hear Emily’s thoughts, containing a smile that only she seemed to notice.

“Blood may dry, but its traces shall never disappear.” the Outsider continued, clasping his hands behind his back. “It has stained the lands, and it has stained their hands. Regardless of the valiant attempts made to deem it insignificant, the ability to take a life is not one to be taken lightly.” He made direct eye contact with Daud then, holding it for a long moment before glancing back at Emily, the whisper of unspoken words on his lips as he dissolved in a cloud of charcoal ash.

“I daresay I have never been to Tyvia. Perhaps this shall be more interesting than I believed.” Elizabeth murmured, rubbing the back of her left hand absentmindedly.

Had it not been for the stain upon their skin that they all shared, Emily would not have understood why they had been brought together. They were the most unlikely group of people. Elizabeth, a noblewoman who’d had everything but her title stolen from her, and who had been given the Outsider’s gifts to make a new name for herself. Daud, the Knife of Dunwall whose blade was dull from disuse, and the sole cause for most of Emily’s problems. Then there was Emily…

What was she?

The Empress of the Isles? It was her title, and Dunwall would always be her people. Regardless of whether or not her bones were buried many feet below Dunwall’s skin, she always would be the woman who had ascended to the throne at too young of an age, and who had tried her hardest to follow in her mother’s footsteps… Even if she hadn’t entirely succeeded.

Then again, the Empress of the Isles shouldn’t be a heretic. Their hands shouldn’t be branded with the mark of a god whose mere utterance of his name could result in execution. They shouldn’t long for the call of the Void, craving the ashy air that tasted of distant lands. And their hearts most certainly should not stop when the Outsider deigned to meet their gazes. She had been the third empress to walk in the Void, she had been told. The third empress to venture into the great expanse composed of nothing but that which was forbidden. The third empress to walk with a god at her side, rather than at his feet, her own authority unchallenged. The third empress to leave a little tiny part of her behind every time she returned to reality.

She could feel herself slipping away with every visit from the Outsider. Every time he spoke of all the knowledge she could never attain, every time his power seemed exude off him in waves, every time those Void-blasted lips tried so very hard not to smile, and every time she dared him to leave behind his policies on remaining neutral. The first time they had met, he had been impartial to the point where she had almost grown irritated. He treated with nothing but polite curiosity, and a quiet surprise when she did something particularly out of the ordinary. But all that had changed when Emily had as well.

He had expected her to be a weak, meek character, she couldn’t help but believe. Nothing but a shadow of his dear Corvo. The way he had swept through Dunwall like a shadow, unseen, and spilling blood in the darkest corners where no one could ever see him…Emily was incapable of living up to that legacy. She was used to living up to legacies. Her mother’s name haunted her like a pleasant memory tainted with a hint of bitter jealousy, but to be compared to her _father_ , Emily had done all she could to prove to the god that she was worth watching. That she was worth his interest. That she was worth his gifts. That she was worth _him_.

She often hoped she had succeeded, but there were many days where she knew she should never have tried to capture the Outsider’s attention. With every passing glance, every action that was a little too human, every breathy laugh when she made a dry quip, every smile when she surprised him _again_ , she felt Empress Emily slipping away. In its place, came Emily—the woman who was utterly insignificant in the God’s eye, but so significant all the same.

So who was she? Was she the woman she’d been raised to be? The woman Daud had _forced_ her to be? Or was she this new, wry thing with eyes that flashed with the Void’s indigo skies, and who was starting to put the Outsider above her own people, even above herself? The thought of letting down her mother’s legacy and all that the Kaldwin dynasty had worked for was _terrifying_.

Everything her mother and grandfather had worked for was standing on the precipice of a cliff that led, nothing but Dunwall’s ruin lying below, and Emily was clinging on to the edge of the cliff by her fingertips. The Outsider stood above, hand outstretched, and head cocked—an offer of aid that, as her duty as the Empress, she could not take. Had Euhorn Kaldwin been here now, he would have let go of the cliff’s edge if only to refrain from consorting with the Great Leviathan.

But what would Jessamine have done? Her mother had always been a fickle thing, the firstborn of a new dynasty whose family had never expected to reign. She’d been thirteen when her mother had died, twenty when her father died and she took the throne. Would she understand? Would she understand that Emily had been younger than she’d been when Beatrix Kaldwin had died in childbirth? Would she understand that she’d only been _ten_ when she’d watched her mother get slaughtered before her? Would she understand that Emily was the last of the Kaldwins, and if she did not survive to pass on their legacy, the Isles would fall into chaos?

Emily’s citizens believed that their empress had all the choices that they, as commoners, did not. That her wealth and status allowed her to make all the choices that they longed to. That she had the freedom they would never have. Granted, she had never been plagued by gripping hunger—not even in Karnaca where she’d always managed to find something to eat with the coin she had—and she would never understand what it was like to dread falling asleep for fear of not waking up the next morning, your body having gone as cold as ice in the night, but there were other things she had to suffer that no one else could comprehend. The threat of people wanting nothing but to poison your wine and take your title for themselves. The fear of your title _always_ coming before any relationships, and try as she might to convince herself that she despised what Wyman did, she couldn’t bring herself to hate the noble.

Wyman’s actions were understandable. Their letters had been her sole comfort for months, and vice versa, but the differences between Wyman’s letters were clear. They had gone from declarations of love, and apologies for their trip to Morley, to anger that she could not trust them with her location—she couldn’t risk it, as much as she had wanted to—and warnings of whales singing songs in reverse. Their relationship had not been the childish thing so many had deemed it to be, and if Emily had been anyone other than the Empress, she would be waking from her slumber to find Wyman’s sparking eyes watching her as she awoke. In the end, the secrets had been too much. The many times Emily had moaned about how difficult it was to put Wyman before her duties, never thinking twice of how the noble might feel.

If Emily took the Outsider’s assistance, trading what remained of her poor heart, and all the views the rulers of the Isles had shared, she would be saving her people, but she would distance her mother’s legacy the way she had distanced Wyman. She would effectively be dismissing years of vigilance, and careful work, only to replace it with the Outsider’s forbidden assistance.

Was she capable of doing such a thing? She knew she didn’t have a choice. At this point in time, she would either have to abandon all that the Kaldwin Dynasty stood for, or watch Dunwall drown, and she knew which one she would choose.


	10. Horror Yet to Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Years in Court had trained her to disguise any weakness, even if she felt as though the world was ending around her—it was a trick Emily knew all too well."_

It was a long way to Tyvia, and even further from its most southern coast to Yaro, and even further from Yaro to the village on the northernmost corner of the Tyvia. They would be lucky if the trip took weeks on a ship, and unfortunately for them, they lacked a ship. This revelation only came around the crack of dawn, Elizabeth, Daud, and Emily all exhausted and having passed out after the Outsider’s visit in any nearby chairs.

Elizabeth had tried to give Emily Daud’s old dusty mattress but after Karnaca, Emily was used to making do with her living conditions. As the sun rise over Dunwall, the guards were most certainly starting to realise that the Empress had disappeared in the night with nothing but a letter addressed to Jameson signed with her name—with a flourish she only added when she was not being threatened—containing a promise that she was safe, and that she would return once she understood what it was that was happening within her kingdom, and to not let the people know. Corvo would hear about it within the week, and if she was anywhere in Dunwall, he would find her. They had to leave before them, there was no other choice. While Emily had reacted poorly to Daud, Corvo had promised to kill the man if he ever dared to return to Dunwall, and right now…she needed Daud’s assistance.

“Perhaps we could steal a boat?” Elizabeth suggested almost absentmindedly as she laced her coffee with a bottle of Old Dunwall. She did not stop pouring, sipping it occasionally to check its taste. At some point, it stopped being coffee laced with Old Dunwall, and became Old Dunwall laced with coffee. “Granted, we were nearly caught last time, but I daresay we have improved since then.”

“I am _not_ having you steal a boat in my name.” said Emily.

“My apologies, would you like to _buy_ one?” Daud said sarcastically. “I did not realise that your garment was loose enough to conceal enough money to attain a ship.”

She scarcely even bristled at his words though her eye twitched. “I shall not forbid from you stealing it in _your_ name, but I shall not condone it.” she said, hands folded in her laps as she refused a cup of biter coffee. The gruel Daud had made with what little resources they had available had turned her off the idea of consuming anything else. She had enough weight on her bones to forgo a meal or two, and Elizabeth would require the extra food to keep her in a state that vaguely resembled sober.

Daud seemed to dislike the idea of Emily forbidding him from doing anything but didn’t make his thoughts known. He scoffed instead, turning back to the noblewoman who had suddenly gone as blank as a sheet, glass still raised to her lips. “El?” When she didn’t respond, he tilted her head up and Emily couldn’t help but gasp. The woman’s eyes had gone from a cool steely grey reminiscent of the fog that showed no signs of lifting, to a dark obsidian black…not entirely unlike the Outsider’s own eyes. Daud grabbed Emily by her arm, yanking her up out of the chair despite the Empress’ startled protests. “You need to leave.” A metal sheet was removed from the wall to reveal a bridge she had not noticed before, leading over towards another crumbling building.

If the desperation in his voice hadn’t been so evident, Emily might have argued, but this was _Daud_ , and whatever it was that got him so concerned… Emily did not want to be around to find out. Instead, she nodded, watching as he placed the metal sheet back. She had no intentions on going anywhere, and she kept herself close to the shadows as she pulled herself back onto the roof, taking care to not make a whisper. If Corvo was still entirely capable of finding her, then Daud would be as well, and Emily did not want to cross the Knife of Dunwall under _any_ circumstances.

“What is it?” The genuine concern in Daud’s voice almost worried her. She hadn’t expected him to possess any semblance of emotions but in the short time she had been with them, it was clear that Elizabeth and Daud cared for each other, even if their relationship was messier than a knotted ball of yarn in whale oil.

From her spot, leaning over the crumbling rooftop onto the floor below, Emily saw Elizabeth struggle to catch her breath. She was doubled over, clutching at her sides as she trembled, staring at the floor.

“El?” Daud pressed as he crouched down, placing a hand on her forearm. She immediately flinched away, recoiling with such violence that she almost fell out of her chair. He immediately backed away, waiting patiently with his scarred brows furrowed in concern.

“It burns in the water.” Elizabeth said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “The ice does nothing but spread the flames.” Sensing Daud’s confusion, she suddenly looked up. “And Dunwall will fall. The blades cross; the old, the blunted, the new, and the twice sharpened.”

Daud paused. “I know your visions are rarely coherent, but you’re speaking in riddles.” Was this what he had meant when he said that Elizabeth could see the truth once she knew what she was looking for? Emily had heard of witches with the ability to foretell the future though she had often doubted the validity of their claims. Even the Outsider did not know precisely what the future held. He saw paths, opportunities for change, stagnation, creation, destruction—he did not choose what he saw. Perhaps, Elizabeth shared the same.

“I do not know how else to word what it was I saw.” Elizabeth said, fear evident in her quivering voice. “Tyvia holds nothing but danger, I saw that much. The blood that has been spilled… You cannot condemn a young man to death, resulting in him ascending to godhood without facing repercussions. The snow is stained crimson, and the ground bleeds the same. Those who were not alive to commit the act still find their hands bloodied, the consequence of their ancestors’ actions. Thousands of years…” She trailed off again, blankly staring off into space. “The Outsider is dying, Daud. I never thought… He is the Outsider… How can he…How can he die? I never imagined this as a possibility, and she is… She is at the centre of the storm.”

“Who?” Daud said as Elizabeth began to collect herself, staying far away as though he knew she did not require his aid. “Delilah? Thought her Majesty handled that.”

“As far as I am aware, she _did_.” Elizabeth said. She shook her head, short hair brushing her ears. “No, Delilah has nothing to do with this.”

Daud swore in a language Emily did not recognise, running a hand through his thinning black hair. “El, I told you this was a bad idea. You saw something important here, and _insisted_ that we return.”

“I have seen what the world may be if we do not succeed. We do not have a choice.”

“And she _does_?”

“No, her path has long since been determined, but how she chooses to approach it differs. You have seen her, do you think—”

“We can’t trust her.”

“You _owe_ her.”

“She should be grateful that I did not stick a sword through her when I had the chance.”

“You would not have.” Elizabeth said with a calm certainty. “There are many things you are capable of doing, but doing that is not one of them. I daresay it is too late to do a thing now. Things have been set in motion.”

“Do you know—?”

“No.” Elizabeth said without missing a beat, having known Daud for so long she did not need him to vocalise his thoughts in its entirety to understand what it was that he wanted. It made Emily wince. She’d done the same with Wyman. “No.” she repeated. “Only the end. Things are…concealed but Tyvia bodes nothing but danger.”

“We have to go.”

“I know.” Elizabeth said. “I do not know what has led to her being at the centre of the storm, but we must be wary.” She glanced down at her hands, tracing the outline of her Mark with her forefinger. “We owe her. If she has lost anything, if she has changed at all, it is _us_ who are responsible. It is _you_ who is responsible, in truth. I mean no disrespect, this time, but I am uncertain as to how we ought to proceed. Make amends? Her life is in danger, and should we ask her to, she would give it for this cause.”

“Then we won’t ask her.” Daud said. “And we will not mention this again.”

“Is that an order, sir, or a request?” she said with amusement, crossing her legs. While considerably looking less shaken than she did mere moments ago, the exhaustion from whatever it was she had seen was clear. Fingertips tapped at her knee, channelling her anxiety into the nervous tic. Years in Court had trained her to disguise any weakness, even if she felt as though the world was ending around her—it was a trick Emily knew all too well, and it was easy to spot when you knew what the other person was trying to do.

He shot her a look, head tilting. “Why do you insist on mocking me?”

“I daresay it is because you made me suffer for weeks before you showed me an ounce of respect.” she said, looking almost nostalgic as she recalled when she had first got to know Daud.  He merely pinched the bridge of his nose at her words, trying his hardest not to smile. She did not have his same restraint and burst into a grin, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have some money left, we can buy a boat. Or, perhaps we could…”

“No.”

“You merely do not wish to see her.”

“We are not the one who knows where she is.” Daud said, looking remarkably more relaxed as Elizabeth seemed to calm down. He did not turn away from Elizabeth, merely raised his voice, “Your Majesty?”

Emily called upon the Void, reaching across the space to pull herself over to Daud. “You do not miss a thing, do you?”

He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “Considering that I had no less than six people and Elizabeth wanting to kill me at all times, it tends to be a necessity. You said that Billie was a ship’s captain.”

She raised a brow. “You intend on finding her? Need I remind you that she is not in Dunwall?”

Elizabeth’s eyes briefly flashed black, and she stared off into the distance. “No.” she said almost absentmindedly. She waved her hand over the space before her, a rift in the world tearing the space apart. Her instructions were clear.

Emily and Daud Stepped through, the Empress’ heart hammering in her chest as she emerged onto a different rooftop. This time, they were in the slums of Dunwall, the slick of fog and thick grime underfoot. While she had done her best to ensure that Dunwall recovered from the plague, and Delilah, putting more money into rebuilding the city than any other Emperor or Empress had, there were still places that had far to go. Despite the enormous fortune she had invested, the poorest areas still needed that much more. Things were improving yes, and she didn’t know if they’d ever _fully_ improve, but they still had a ways to go.

They could see into a nearby window from the rooftop they crouched on, the portal whispering as it shut. Emily tried to reposition herself to allow Elizabeth room but as she moved, her clear sight into the window became blocked by a window shutter. “I did not think to even so much as look for her.” Elizabeth admitted. “I imagined it would be like searching for a ghost who did not want to be found, but I had my doubts. There were whispers in the back of my mind, whispers I opted to ignore, and I fully admit to that. I had my own fears, fears I did not want to acknowledge as I believed it would weaken me. At the time, my own power and continued existence was more important to me than trying to make sense of my flaws. But once I knew what I had to do, what was required of me, I did not think that there was any other choice. We could either abandon your morals, your Majesty, or the entirety of everything Daud and I have worked for. Perhaps this was selfish, but I cannot say that I regret it as of yet.”

Emily did not acknowledge Elizabeth’s words, merely leaning over to peer back into the room. It was a plain thing, a room standard for this area. Furniture was scarce, and the furniture that did dot the space was falling apart, varnish peeling away to reveal a rose coloured wood underneath. Papers had been strewn across the floor, scribbled upon with the frantic writings of a madman with too much to say, and the inability to write fast enough. The desperation of the room’s occupant was clear. They were searching for something, someone, and they would do whatever it took to find it. A familiar white coat was strewn across a lopsided chair, Emily noticed, as she peered closer with her spyglass in hand. Then, in the corner of the room, moved a shadow. A figure; blocky, with wide shoulders from years of physical training, and the gauntness of someone who could not afford to have full meals three times a day. Dark, scarred skin stood out against even darker hair contrasting against the pale cream wallpaper behind them.

 _Billie_.


	11. Years Ago, Another Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I don’t have much choice, do I?" "You always have a choice."_

Emily sensed, rather than saw, Daud stiffen beside her as they stood crouched on the rooftops of Dunwall’s slums, peering into the window opposite as Billie Lurk smoked a cigar, her hands shaking. It had been jarring to see Meagan with an arm and an eye after Emily had returned from Stilton’s, sparing the woman from the mishap that had stolen not only her friend’s mind, but also parts of her very being. The Outsider had warned her about changing the past, and Meagan’s current state— _Billie’s_ current state, she reminded herself—proved that.

Without a word, Elizabeth reached over to Daud, and brushed her hand against his in silent reassurance. Emily still didn’t know precisely what he was to her. Friend? Partner? Lover? Whatever they were to each other, Emily was almost jealous.

“What are you going to do?” said the noblewoman after a moment’s pause. “You cannot simply waltz in there.”

Daud merely raised a brow. “No?”

“You threatened to kill her the next time you saw her. She will believe that you are here for that reason, and that reason alone.” Elizabeth said. “You should let her come to you.”

“Or,” Emily muttered under her breath, “you could knock on her door.” The two assassins turned to look at her as though the idea was absurd, and the Empress let out a breath. “Listen, if she stumbles across you, she’ll think that she should have done more to avoid being seen by you. You go and see her, give her an opportunity to slam the door in your face…”

Daud glowered. “You don’t know Billie.”

“ _No_ , but I know Meagan Foster.” she pointed out. “And I don’t know what she was like before, but if you’re anything to go by, she’s changed. She might very well want to see you again. You were a father to her.”

Beside her, Elizabeth started laughing quietly. “Dauddy.” she said, Daud elbowing her with such force she almost threatened to topple off the roof.

While she was entirely certain there was a much larger story to Elizabeth’s words, Emily was also entirely certain that she did not want to hear it. Her Outsider-gifted ears pricked as Billie’s heels clicked across the wooden panelled floors, moving ever closer to the balcony. She was about to flee when Daud grabbed her by the arm with the same force his assassin had when they’d stolen her from her parents. It sent a fresh wave of panic through her, and she was so clouded by her fear that she barely registered Daud raising a finger to his lips, whispering a warning that she could not flee on foot without attracting more attention to herself.

Though the world seemed to be spinning, Emily felt herself nod, head feeling heavier than ever before. “Talk to her.” she murmured as the Void’s icy fire began to burn under her skin. She answered its calls, pulling herself out of Daud’s grip and across to the house next to them. Why was she so desperate to avoid him? Not even facing her aunt had been such a terrifying prospect. Yet here she was, almost incapacitated by the mere touch of a man who had made it clear he was not the person who had killed her mother.

She could all but hear the Outsider whispering in her ear with his cryptic poetry, and warnings of events that would come to pass only after Emily was six feet under. Even if he wasn’t there, the mere idea of his presence was comforting. He would have chastised her, called her irrational but would have disguised his insults with wry smiles, and vexing remarks that irritated her to no end.

She pulled herself down to ground level, collecting herself as Daud knocked twice on the door. When no one answered, he opened it a moment later. Emily fell several steps behind the two assassins, hand still hovering over her blade. Watching Daud stop before Billie’s door almost made Emily’s heart stopped. She had no reason to worry. It was not her that had a problem with Billie. She was only here because like it or not, the Outsider had chosen to bring her into this mess. Why had he chosen to entrust her with this task? He was on death’s door, and he had trusted _Emily Kaldwin_ to save him.

It was during moments such as these that Emily realised how utterly insignificant she was. She stood next to a man who had killed more people than she had ever met, and a woman who had been as much the driving force behind the Lord Regent’s fall as her father had been. Even Billie Lurk was a legend in her own right. What had Emily done? She was the Empress of the Isles but she hadn’t made anything for herself. Was this it? Was she destined to save the Outsider?

“Daud.” Billie’s low voice was stone cold as the door opened. She’d put her coat back on with her sword resting on the chair behind her. She looked ready to make peace with her fate. “Are you here to kill me?”

Daud stayed silent for a moment longer than what was necessary. “We need your help.” he said, forcing the words to escape his mouth. She could see how greatly it damaged his pride to admit to Billie—the woman who had _betrayed_ him—why they had chosen to show up there now.

“I’ve been looking for you for years, and you show up now?” Billie said, letting out a sigh. “If you didn’t want to kill me, how come you didn’t want to come check up on me sooner?”

“You think that I did not look for you?” the Knife of Dunwall said with his scarred brow raised. “Your ship’s name is an ode to your farewell.”

Billie looked straight past him, over his shoulder to Emily and Elizabeth who seemed to glow in the pale white light hanging from the ceiling above them. “Your Majesty,” she said with a rather sarcastic tilt of her head, “It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Billie.” the Empress said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Even if we did not…end on the best of terms.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” Billie said, pain flashing across her face. “And Elizabeth, it’s been even longer.”

“So it has, old friend.” Elizabeth said with a large grin, peeking out from behind Daud. “I was beginning to forget your face, and though you seemed to have grown considerably, I believe I would be able to pick you out from a crowd of thousands.”

“And still sounding as posh as ever, I see.” Billie said with only a touch of derisiveness. “Do come in. It’s not much, but it’s home. Or, it’s home away from home. The Wale’s probably got more claim to home. Tea?” Daud grunted and took a seat in a nearby, crumbling chair while Emily nodded. Elizabeth went to answer but Billie brought out half of bottle of whiskey from under the bare mattress and tossed it to the former noblewoman. “I’m surprised you’re not an alcoholic.”

“Too poor to be one.”

Billie snorted, making a face. “Oh, please. You just like the expensive stuff.”

“I like the _strong_ stuff,” Elizabeth corrected with a wrinkle of her nose, “which tends to cost more.”

If the room had looked dilapidated from afar, it looked even worse up close. The varnish was more than fading, it was peeling. It flaked off every time she took a step, spots of mahogany dotting the toes of her boots. The wallpaper was practically crumbling, dissolving into dust under her touch. Was this where she had been staying this entire time? Emily knew that she was fortunate to have what she did, and she had seen how people had lived in Karnaca—Bloodflies in the attics, mere feet separating their nests from the tenants below—but she had put a majority of the poverty on the Duke. Dunwall was _her_ home. Dunwall was _her_ land. She should know the state of her people’s homes. How was it fair that she got to live in luxury when Billie couldn’t even take in a breath without chalky wallpaper dust settling over her lips?

 The rickety chair Emily chose to perch upon creaked underneath her as she crossed her legs. The cup of tea she was handed burned her fingers through the thin porcelain, and she kept her eyes down on the loose leaves swirling through the amber liquid. There were two people in this room that she never would have spoken to of her own free will. One, for the crimes he had committed, and the other for aiding him in the aforementioned crimes. Elizabeth was a different altogether. She had once been precisely the kind of person Emily would have been _forced_ to associate with, but that was not to say that she was not starting to see why her mother had been fond of the noblewoman.

“Billie,” Emily said quietly, resting her cup against her knee as she lowered it from her lips. The woman looked up from her mundane conversation regarding river krusts with Elizabeth, thick brows raised. “We need to go to Tyvia.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

Daud and Elizabeth exchanged a look but Emily did not notice, and was it really their place to determine whether or not to tell the former Whaler about the Outsider’s current state? In her opinion, no. “The Outsider is dying.” she said in a soft voice.

If Billie had been shocked to see Daud on her doorstep, she was almost petrified now. “Can that even happen?” She shook her head as she clapped her hands over her mouth, clipped hair untucking itself from behind her ears. Then, so quiet that Emily’s ears were _straining_ to hear her, “ _Fuck my life_.”

Emily couldn’t help it, she burst into a fit of less-than-proper giggles. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been exposed to vulgarity in her lifetime. Corvo tended to watch his mouth, years of court had ingrained propriety into the former commoner. Wyman had done their best—the mere thought of Wyman did nothing to stop her laughter—but once again, noble society had taught them to never swear.

It was, however, during her time in the Hound Pits that she had been exposed to curses so colourful that it would have made Daud blush. Samuel swore like a sailor, and Lord Pendleton had always been too drunk to watch his tongue. Those days may not have ended well but she remembered the early days with great fondness. Lydia’s not-so-subtle moves on Corvo, and her father choking on his words to such an extent that he had gone mute for an entire week. Wallace, with his perpetually grumpy demeanour. Callista trying her hardest to not ask for a drink when Emily ran off to evade her studies once again. Samuel stumbling across her and crossing his heart as he swore not to tell Corvo where she was, though in the end, he always did. Piero and his constant muttering as he tried to understand the technicalities of his newest inventions—Outsider’s eyes, how she missed him. Sokolov still wrote from time to time but she’d always preferred the company of the erratic, and often wild-eyed Piero.

Billie found herself cracking a small smile herself once Emily’s laughter quelled. “So you need me to take you to Tyvia.” she said, then jerked her head towards Daud and Elizabeth. “With them?”

“I know.” Emily said, understanding Billie’s confusion. “The Outsider—”

“He _really_ seems to get his hands in everything, doesn’t he?”

She didn’t disagree. “The Outsider,” she repeated with a small smile, “forced us together.” She pursed her lips together tightly, “As you can understand, Billie, we don’t have an awful lot of time.”

The woman born not ten miles off of the coast of Pandyssia let out a sigh, crossing her arms. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.”

“In all due respect, I owe you much more than my service.”

The Empress’ face crumpled. Was that what Billie thought? She had done so much for her already, and despite the revelation that the woman she had used to call Meagan had been one of the people behind her mother’s assassination. But she had forgiven—relatively speaking—Daud, had she not? And Daud was nothing more than a troublesome nuisance that she had to put up with next while. She closed her eyes. “Please, Billie.” she said quietly. “You have the right to refuse my request. I would never dare to ask you to do something you do not wish to.”

Billie held her gaze for a long moment, and Emily could see her fear flicker through her dark irises. This was not the safest of adventures or quests, and if the Outsider’s life was at risk, were theirs not as well if only by proximity? But then again, if their lives were at risk, was there any point in refusing Emily? Simply because Billie had the option of refusing her did not mean that it was practical to do so. This was a task the Outsider himself had bestowed upon the Empress, and she would have to do everything in her power to save him from whatever it was that was threatening his existence. Eventually, the ship’s captain let out a heavy sigh, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll take you. We leave in an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a little headcanon that Emily rather enjoyed the first couple weeks in the Hound Pits when she first escaped the Golden Cat--minus all her lessons with Callista, of course--and looks upon them with nothing but melancholy. I don't know, maybe I'm just insane. As always, love to hear your thoughts, and kudos are always more than welcome.


	12. Hard to Impress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You do not walk your paths, Emily Kaldwin. You run down them with a conviction no other living person shares."_

Emily’s quarters had remained relatively untouched since she had left Billie. A thin layer of dust had settled over her belongings including all the things she had stolen whilst in Karnaca, and her sheets remained crumpled in the edge of her bed—with no one harassing her to make it, and without having a servant to come after her, she hadn’t seen the point. A few things had been adjusted though, uneven outlines in the dust marking where someone had picked the object up and set it back down.

She took a seat on the creaking mattress, feeling the thrum of the engine below her. She’d almost missed it. Not the perilous situation that she had, once again, found herself in but the rock of the boat in the waves as Billie departed from shore, the purring engine that sent soft vibrations through the wall of the ship…

Gradually, her eyes began to close, and she drifted off, distractions fading in place of the many sounds of the Dreadful Wale. She felt rather than saw the moment when the Outsider materialised in her quarters. The air shifted, the bitter smell of electricity followed by the scent of ashy charcoal hanging in the air. Something deep within her stirred, answering the summons of the god who had placed his mark on the back of her hand. Emily did not open her eyes.

“So here you are again.” the Outsider said, and she could hear him pace across the length of her quarters. “Partnered with the woman who helped to steal your life, then saved it many years later, the noblewoman who protected you as her own from the shadows and Daud, my old friend. If Billie’s actions were unforgivable, then Daud is damned with no chance of redemption. Yet, you continue to surprise me. You have not forgiven him but you stayed your blade when so many other paths ended in your uniform permanently bearing his blood. Is this the Attano legacy, I wonder? To be noble when so many others would not be? To spare the good, and condemn the evil but hesitate when the lines blur?

“Tyvia is a cold land, icier than even Daud’s heart once was. He has softened in his age, aided by the comfort of Elizabeth, the woman he dragged into his business despite his claims that he wanted her to have no part in his field, and the woman who helped to show him when to demonstrate mercy. What you will find in Tyvia will be a horror greater than that you have ever imagined. What you have seen thus far has not prepared you. In Dunwall, the horrors are evident. They dance on the surface like oil on water. Where you are headed, they will be hidden under the ice and snow for which the lands are known. People whisper of Pandyssia as though it is a beast who has its fangs bared, not realising that such a beast is better than one who disguises itself as human.”

The foot of the bed sank as the Outsider took a seat, ice-cold fingertips dancing inches above her legs. “There are tales of an Ice Queen who poisoned those with the purest hearts so that her ice froze that which made them kind.” he said after a moment’s pause, the hint of a warning behind his words. “Then, they were cold as she was, and they were not the person they had been before.”

With a heavy sigh, Emily cracked open her eyes. She had grown all too used to the Outsider’s cryptic messages to be startled by his sudden change in conversation. Instead, she matched the change with her own. “Are you afraid?”

Confusion flitted across his visage. “Of?” he said.

“Dying.”

“Death is inevitable.”

“Perhaps, but are you?” She almost wanted him to throw her words back at her, wanting him to twist her meaning. The times she chose to indulge his remarks were few and far between, and she was always aware that he would manipulate anything she could say until it suited what he wanted to be asked, but how else could he respond to her question? Her question was a double edged sword with two questions that hung in the air, and Emily only wanting one answered.

The Outsider hesitated. “No creature wishes for death, not truly. They wish for an escape that death may happen to offer but they never wish for death.” Emily pushed herself up onto her elbows as he glanced down at his hands, twisting the rings that adorned his fingers. While his discomfort did not rest easy with her, the fact that he had chosen to indulge her—rather than the other way around—had piqued her interest. “We each have our own demons, and knowing what they are does not save us from them.”

“I’m afraid that my mother would be disappointed in me.” The words were out before she could stop them but her candour seemed to take him by surprise—a reaction she rarely managed to elicit from him, and it was a reaction she would relish in even if it caused her a marginal amount of distress. “My father too, I daresay. My mother would never have dared to raise her hand against her people.”

“Your mother,” the Outsider said slowly, “never had to.”

“Neither did I.” she said. “You have said it yourself: there are always alternate paths that could have been walked.”

He let out a breathy chuckle that was barely a laugh. “You do not walk your paths, Emily Kaldwin. You run down them with a conviction no other living person shares.” His lips pursed as he considered his words. He hummed. “Perhaps I was wrong. I cannot recall any other who shared in your determination.”

Emily pushed her shoulders back. Head up, eyes locking on his. She was the very image of an empress despite her audience only consisting of beings who did not fall under her domain. “Does that impress you?” she said when he let out what was akin to a breathy chuckle.

“You intrigue me.” he corrected without a moment’s hesitation. “There are few members of nobility who care enough about their people to try and save them.”

“I had no other choice.” The Outsider’s disapproving glare was enough to make her backtrack. “What I mean is: my people have suffered because of my shortcomings, and if there was one thing that has been made clear to me over these past years is that if you want something fixed, you’d better be prepared to get involved.”

For the first time since she had known him, the Outsider let out a laugh. She was dwarfed in comparison, and flooded with a sense of a time long passed when the Outsider had been nothing more than human, and the idea of representing the Void had never even crossed his mind, and it was like listening to whales sing.

She had imagined what it had sounded like before, on nights lying awake in Dunwall Tower, her bones aching to answer the call of the Void, and her skin crawling at the thought of Delilah being alive. Still, nothing had prepared her for the deity’s all-too-human behaviour. She was overcome with the feeling of insignificance as though witnessing something that she, as a mere mortal, should not be witnessing. She had never had any doubts that in comparison to the Outsider, she was but a mere blip in the entire timeline of the universe. Many others would disagree with her. They would say that she was the Empress of the Isles. They would say that simply because she had been born with a crown waiting to sit upon her head, she was that much more important than any other person.

 Was she?

Emily, with all her education, could scarcely recall the names of the emperors and empresses who had come before her, and if she couldn’t do such a trivial thing, why would history care? Certainly, they would transcribe her name down in a book somewhere and as long as her civilization endured, they would remember her name.

But they wouldn’t remember that Emily tended to clean her entire room when stressed despite having an army of servants capable of doing it for her. Or that Emily liked to sing despite having no musical talent—she learned by ear, and over half of the songs she tried to sing would escape her. They would not remember that Emily would rather cut off all her limbs than try to do mathematics for several hours straight. They would not know how she took her tea, or which shoe she put on first, or—

The only person who would remember any of this would be the person standing before her, and it was not because of her title that he found her interesting. If it was because of her title that he found her interesting, then Daud would never have borne his Mark, nor would Delilah, or the child he had mentioned in passing who had used his gifts to take revenge, or the countless unnamed others that were statistically likely to _not_ be nobility.

Yet, she could not bring herself to be concerned by her own inevitable fate. Instead, she found herself smiling along with the Outsider, watching his merriment as though one would watch a creature on display. It was something entirely foreign, and beyond her realm of understanding but the beauty it displayed could not be denied.

“Oh, your Majesty never ceases to fascinate me.” he said, still chuckling. “How quickly the tables have turned. Those who wish to cross you may have to think twice now that the Empress understands this game she has unwillingly found herself in.”

“And what, may I ask, is the end goal of this game? I may very well understand the dynamics, and my place in it, but I do not understand what it is that the game strives for.”

“Take a guess.”

She knew the answer the instant she began to consider her question. “My head.”

“Not quite.” the Outsider said. “Your throne. Power corrupts those with darkness in their heart, but the want for power corrupts even the purest of souls. It is a battle to see who will surrender and who will deny the very nature of their position.”

“Then how are my odds looking?” Emily said, only to be met with silence. A question he could not answer for her without interfering. There were many times she wished that he had a definitive stance on what he considered interfering. Asking him questions often ended up being a game of its own, with Emily trying to see what she could slip by him. A sigh fell from her lips. “Is this part of the same game?”

“I cannot see my own death.” the Outsider admitted a second later. “It is a knowledge that has eluded me since I was created. There is much I know but the circumstances of my end will never be something I can be entirely aware of. Thus, I cannot say with any certainty who is behind this and what they wish to achieve though I daresay it may have to do with wanting to see the end of me.”

Emily began to twist her signet ring, growing nervous. “What would happen should that occur?”

The Outsider looked away.

“Tell me.”

“It is not something you may wish to know.”

She stood up then, glowering over the Outsider. He was not her subject, and nor was she his, but she was a fickle thing with a determination, as he had pointed out, few could match. And right now, he was denying her of what she wanted which she would not allow. He could test her patience as much as he liked but she was the Empress, and _technically_ the head of a religion that frowned upon any fraternization with the being before her, and she would be _damned_ if she let him deny her wishes if only because he thought she was too delicate to hear them.

She did not have to ask him a third time, not even the Outsider wishing to challenge her open defiance. “I cannot be certain.” he admitted after a long moment. “The Void may devour all the lights in the sky, or it may continue to exist without needing to replace me. Its existence does not rely on me, rather than the other way around but should I die…” The Outsider looked at Emily’s hand, and picked it up from her side, tracing over the lines hidden under a swath of silk ribbon. “You would know, and would be powerless to stop whatever happens next.”

She swallowed at the prospect. He had become an integral part of her since Delilah’s coup. She could scarcely imagine a time without the Outsider whispering in her dreams, or without him playing some sort of influence in her life. She knew that the Outsider’s death was inevitable, he had said so much earlier, but she hadn’t expected to ever face such a problem within her lifetime. This was a situation that she should not have to deal with, and if believing that made her a selfish empress, she didn’t care. In her time as empress, she had seen her mother murdered with her father being framed for it, a rat plague that had killed half of her domain’s population, and her aunt’s attempt to overthrow her.

Was that not enough? Her accomplishments were greater than that of her grandfather’s and yet there seemed to be no end in sight. Her reign seemed to be plagued by misfortunes, and not only could she not afford to have the Outsider’s death on her hands, but she also couldn’t live with the idea of a world without the Outsider in it.

“Do me a favour then,” she said, “and don’t die.”

The Outsider smiled, slowly. “I’ll try my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay look, I did say that it was going to be a slow burn fic but hey, this chapter contained a...marginal amount of progress, right? As Above is almost 45k words in my doc (since I'm posting several chapters behind what I'm writing) and boy, there doesn't really seem to be an end in sight yet so guess you're stuck with me for another while. See you in the next chapter <3


	13. Barbed and Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"It is only out of the worst of situations that the good can arise. A phoenix from the ashes, if you will." "Is this where you compare me to a phoenix and Dunwall to ashes?" "I am not your mother, Emily. It is not my place to tell you what you are, and what you will be. That is something you must discover for yourself."_

Little had changed about the rest of the Dreadful Wale. Remnants of Sokolov’s belongings were scattered about the area, smudges of paint marking walls and floors, as well as scraps of canvases dotting desks where Billie had shoved them, not knowing what else do with them. Emily almost missed the crazed natural philosopher, if only to add a little bitterness in her life to make everything else seem that much better. He had returned to Tyvia, and some naïve part of Emily hoped that they would run into each other. The rational part of her knew that the possibility was unlikely given how large the great, icy expanse of Tyvia was.

She found Elizabeth on port side of the deck, leaning over the railing. Her short hair had been tied back to show the multitude of jagged scars that stretched from the base of her neck and disappeared under her collar.

“Blood Briar.” Elizabeth explained, tugging a scarf up from underneath her jacket to hide the scars. “They are a… Well, there is no way to put this tactfully… They are a righteous pain in the ass. Daud was a bit preoccupied with saving you from Delilah, and Outsider knows how many times he’s taken a sword to me.” Her voice got quiet then, her eyes lowered to the ring on a chain around her neck. “I know you do not trust him, and I understand you may never forgive him entirely but he has changed.”

Emily hadn’t stopped to consider that the Outsider did not visit all of his Marked if only to remove the most severe wounds from their body as he had for her so many times. “I’m sorry.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “For?” she said. She reached her fingers up to her scars. “Oh. They will fade.”

She shook her head. “Not considering the other half of the story. I…found out what Daud—and you, I suppose—did for me last year. Billie had an audiograph. It didn’t stop me from hating him.” She laughed nervously, shuffling her feet. “I was blinded by my rage.”

“I cannot blame you for that.” Elizabeth assured. “You, above anyone else, has a reason to despise Daud. Jessamine…was my best friend, and the woman your father loves. Yet, even our grief combined is significant in comparison to yours.”

Emily shrugged, not knowing how else to react. “We can’t change the past.”

“You did.” Elizabeth said, steely eyes looking up from her ring. “Billie?”

“How did you—?”

“Just as the Outsider sees horrible glimpses of both the future and past, as do I.” she said with the hint of bitterness leaking into her voice. “It is not as much of a blessing as it may seem. I have avoided the worst of information—Void knows I do not wish to know how my friends will die.” She cracked a smile, “And your thoughts are impossibly loud. I suspect you will soon learn how to hide them from me.”

“How?”

She shrugged, ring bouncing on her sternum. “Billie used to try and name as many locations as she could, and then organise her list. Daud creates training drills that he then makes me work through the next day. Anything that will distract you.”

Emily let out a sigh, leaning over the side of the boat herself. “I’ve never been this far north. I’m almost starting to miss Dunwall.”

“Dunwall will be safe in your absence.” Elizabeth said with sort of confidence that only came with the ability to see the future. “The threat that we face is bigger than a threat of an empire without an empress.”

 She couldn’t disagree. The worst thing that could happen if Dunwall fell would be the collapse of the Empire, but Void knew what would happen if the Outsider died. The thought of the Void’s residential deity disappearing scared her more than she would like to admit. She couldn’t exactly place why; whether or not because she feared what would happen if the Outsider disappeared, or if she simply feared the idea of him dying. No. The latter would be preposterous. He was…the Outsider, for lack of better words.

“Tell me,” Emily said, if only trying to distract herself. “Once you… Once you left court, did you find it almost impossible to believe the state in which people live? I’m still trying to get my head around it. I knew things were not…up to standard but Dunwall was improving after the Regent’s tyranny. I did not expect to find the same level of corruption in Karnaca.”

Elizabeth almost seemed to wince as she thought back to the days of expensive silk and taffeta gowns, and not worrying about when she would get her next meal. She shifted, tugging the sleeve of her navy jacket down. The fabric was thinning with age, and in a cut that had not been in fashion since Emily was a child. It did not escape her notice that both Daud and Billie possessed nearly-identical jackets in crimson. “Uh, yeah.” she said almost uncharacteristically. “It is…difficult, to put aside years of ignorance. It has been little over seventeen years since I found myself in this situation, and I still find myself wondering how on Earth Daud managed to build a small empire for himself when it is near impossible for the poor to rise above their station. I used to blame the poor for their situation, even while I aided them. In my eyes, it was there fault that they did not receive an education to get a better job, or that they did not handle their finances correctly.

“It did not take me long to see my errors. Many did not receive an education not because they could not afford it, or not because they did not want to, but because it simply was not offered. During my rather brief stay with Daud’s men before your father forced us to flee, I taught some of them to read and write, and _Outsider’s eyes_ , the way that their faces lit up when they managed to read their first sentence. It did not matter if they were five or fifteen, it will forever be something I can never forget. I have never considered myself a particularly _maternal_ woman but…” She laughed then, glancing back down at her feet. “The nobles may have houses that could hold an entire town, or the newest technology but it is within the streets, I have found, that the real beauty lies. When you own nothing, everything is that much more important.”

Emily couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s rush to answer her question. There were few people in Dunwall who shared the same passion and Emily couldn’t help but find it…refreshing. “There are many days that I wish I was not born destined for the crown. Perhaps a small apartment down by Clavering. Mother always had an interest in sewing, perhaps she would have made dresses, and I could see Corvo giving up his chance in the military to stay with her.” She sighed. “However, a simpler life may not always be a better one. I long to be able to change history but who would sit on the throne now, if not me? My reign has been far from flawless but I daresay that many would not have put their people’s wellbeing before their own.”

“I am uncertain if anyone has ever told you this, your Majesty…” Elizabeth said, stepping away from the railing and the stinging salt spray to look at Emily, “but you have done so much good for your people. Thank you.”

Emily didn’t know how to react. Instead, she merely cracked a small smile, praying that Elizabeth would understand that her graciousness could not be expressed in words. Knowing the woman’s uncanny Outsider-given gift to know everyone’s thoughts, she probably did. “If you had told me ten years ago I would be partnering up with Daud to save the Outsider, I do not think I would have believed you.”

She scoffed, “A strange turn of events not even the Outsider expected, I daresay. How… How is he? I have heard little from his as of late. He does seem to be _quite_ preoccupied with you, however.”

Did she have any right to tell Elizabeth? She was one of the Outsider’s Marked for a reason, no? Then again, Delilah had been one of the Outsider’s favoured once. Emily did not know why she insisted on comparing mediocre situations to the worst ones. Elizabeth was, by far, not as twisted and corrupt as Delilah had been. “He’s…afraid.” she admitted with some reluctance. “He doesn’t want to admit it, but I see it.”

“He should be.” Elizabeth said, turning back to face the water. Droplets of water had hit her eye and caused the dark makeup around her eyes to smudge, staining her lower waterline. The tenseness that the woman exuded was palpable, and Emily was certain that it had to do with the conversation she had overheard. She still did not understand what it was that the two assassins were speaking of but Elizabeth’s grim warning regarding crossing blades still haunted her. “I wonder if he feels as though he owes you something.”

“The Outsider rarely cares enough to feel indebted to another.”

“Your Majesty—” began Elizabeth.

“Emily, _please_.”

She let out what was equivalent to a mother’s frustrated sigh when her child did not understand something that she thought was obvious. “Emily,” she tried again, “if the Outsider’s visiting when you are not even at one of his shrines, I daresay he cares. He may claim that he does not play favourites but speaking from experience, _he does_. The level of derision in his tone when he speak to Daud in comparison to when he speaks to me is almost outstanding. I do not know what his exact nature is with you but rest assured that it is unlike the relationship any of us have with him.”

“Rest assured?” she repeated. “If anything, that is concerning, not consoling.”

“Not all differences bode poorly.” she said, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “It is only out of the worst of situations that the good can arise. A phoenix from the ashes, if you will.”

“Is this where you compare me to a phoenix and Dunwall to ashes?”

“I am not your mother, Emily. It is not my place to tell you what you are, and what you will be. That is something you must discover for yourself.” Elizabeth said sternly but behind those cold grey eyes, Emily could sense a flicker of sadness.

It was not difficult to see that the noblewoman missed Empress Jessamine as much as Emily did, perhaps more. Emily had been young when she had passed, and despite how hard she’d tried, she was starting to forget the sound of her mother’s voice, or her laugh, or the way she’d looked… If it were not for Corvo’s stories, she might have next to no memories of her at all. Elizabeth had been just as old if not older as Emily was now when she’d died. She was almost jealous of the noblewoman. What she would have given to have her memories but as she lingered on her jealousy, she realised that Elizabeth had lost not just her closest friend at the hands of the Regent, but she had lost the last remaining member of her family, as well as her home, and everything she’d ever owned. She damned her childish envy—they’d each suffered from the Regent’s short reign, and Emily had no right to say that Elizabeth had it any better than she had.

Save for when it came to Delilah, perhaps.

“I know.” Emily said finally. “I only meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Elizabeth assured. “But my gifts know the boundaries, and do not show me events in which I have a part of. Just as the Outsider cannot see what will happen as it depends on his life, I cannot see the future in which I am in. The past, yes, but not the future. Understandably, I cannot see what you will become during this. We are both in the dark.”

Emily did not know what to say so she nodded. There were limitations on their powers, there had to be. Even the Outsider was limited in his capacities, and they held mere fragments of his powers. They wouldn’t be any different, how could they be? She shivered then, not because of the cold but because of the uncertainty and instability of the path they walked. They were heading far into the north, into lands that everyone but the Outsider had forgotten, and damn it all, she was frightened.

With Delilah, she had known what she was facing: a power hungry witch, jealous of her and her mother, and intent on taking back which she thought was hers. A strange sense of the unknown hung over their current quest. They did not know what they were facing, they did not know what they had to do, and they did not know what they were supposed to do. All they knew was that if they did not succeed, they would not have an opportunity to regret their actions. They either succeeded, or they failed, and there was no in between. With Delilah, there had always been the chance of another being able to fight her, should Emily have failed. Now, time was running out, and they were no closer to achieving their goal than they were before.

She knew that she could not afford to be frightened, and she knew that. She was Emily Kaldwin, and she had suffered worse than this. The overwhelming grief following her mother’s death had threatened to suffocate her, and when the people she had thought to be her allies _manipulated_ her, _extorted_ her, treated her as just another means to an end, she’d almost drowned in her sorrows.

Still she had survived, had she not? And if she could survive that, she could survive anything.


	14. His Eyes on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I don't think after what I've done that I'm fit to be empress."_

They sailed through the night, the tepid waters of Gristol fading into the freezing expanse of the deep ocean. Despite the many layers that made up Emily’s uniform she found herself shivering, pulling her scarf up if only to shield her face from the biting wind that had picked up the instant they had left Gristol’s official borders. She would have to procure more suitable clothing, she realised with a hefty sigh as she pulled the thick woollen blanket Elizabeth had found below deck around her shoulders. She was going to freeze to death before they even arrived at Tyvia’s shores.

Elizabeth’s words still hung heavy in the air though the noblewoman had long since gone to bed, curling up in a corner rather than taking a spare bed. The Outsider’s interest her was most definitely peculiar. She did not quite know what to make of it. She almost did not _want_ to make sense of it, but how could she not linger on the possibility that—

“So,” Billie’s short, clipped tone almost took her by surprise, snapping her out of her reverie. “Interesting company you’ve chosen.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the wheel?” Emily said, rewrapping her blanket as it began to slip off her shoulders.

“Elizabeth’s got it.” the woman grunted. “Who knew that she could sail? Guess that’s what happens when you have money. Besides, it isn’t hard. The sea’s calm, and we’re going in a straight line for the next couple miles. She couldn’t sleep anyway.” Apparently Emily’s worry was evident enough that Billlie cracked a smile. “She’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps, but will we?”

The dark skinned woman went silent, twisting her hands. Emily still wasn’t quite used to seeing without all her scars and, well if she was being honest, with both arms. She hadn’t quite realised how much of an impression Billie had made in her mind. “In what context?” Billie said. “Because I get this distinct impression that you’re not talking about the ship.”

She ducked her head. The woman had always intimidated her to a lesser degree, if only because Emily felt as though she owed her after what she’d done for Emily. She hadn’t asked Billie to save her from Delilah, even if Billie had only wanted assistance with locating Sokolov. “You know, I didn’t think we’d be doing this again. Can’t say that I missed it.”

“Didn’t even miss your old friend?” Billie teased, nudging her side. Her face fell when Emily didn’t respond. Seconds passed, then minutes. “I understand. You’ve gone through more shit in twenty six years than anyone else here has. Elizabeth’s nearly fifty now, and half the shit she’s dealt with happened over a long period of time. She was thirty nine when your mother died, and when her life fell apart. You were ten.”

“Does it _matter_ how old we were?” Emily said. Her bitterness regarding the change in conversation was all but palpable. “I don’t think any of us should have to have gone through what we did. I don’t know how the Regent managed to strip Elizabeth of her title.”

Billie froze. “Wait, you don’t know what happened?”

“Was that not—”

“No.” Billie said, coughing. “The Regent…” She shifted uncomfortably, combing through her clipped hair. “Elizabeth was never fond of the Regent, and after she found out what he’d done, Void knows I’ve never seen anyone so set on destroying another person. She made a deal with Daud just to protect herself from the Regent—Outsider knows that Burrows would have had her head a lot sooner if Daud didn’t have us following Elizabeth around. She exchanged information on our… _targets_ in exchange for protection. Tried to give Daud other methods of dealing with them rather than sending them to the grave. I don’t know what happened next but she was charged for heresy and sentenced to death. Until her father stepped in.

“I saw him, once or twice. Sickly, dying man. It wasn’t the plague but something much worse. The plague acts quick. He’d been dying for weeks. And, he took the blame. Died two days later, and Elizabeth had everything _but_ her title taken from her.” She paused, only to laugh. “I wasn’t fond of her back then. Daud all but raised me, and he was too preoccupied with her and his grief that I thought him weak. He wasn’t, in the end, but it was too late. I…blamed Elizabeth. I shouldn’t have, but I did. One of my biggest mistakes—I underestimated them both. She’s just as ruthless as him, but in a different way. She would much rather ruin a person than kill them, and I’ve realised that may be twice as bad.”

A shiver rippled down Emily’s spine as they met eyes. Many of the fates her victims from Karnaca faced were worse than death. Jindosh, driven insane by his own device. Breanna, separated from Delilah and the Void. Duke Abele, replaced by his double and forced to spend the rest of his life being considered a lunatic. Should she not just have killed them? It would have been kinder. Despite Emily being responsible for the fate of her people, those people had betrayed her. She had every right to kill them but she had stayed her blade. It had seemed like the right decision at the time but as she looked back on it, was it really?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Billie said as the Empress fell quiet. “You did the right thing, and you didn’t do half of what Elizabeth would do. If they’d had a family, any heirlooms, they would have disappeared. I saw some of the things she did. Bundry Rothwild—she packed him up and sent him to Samara, and sent all his workers to work at her friend’s slaughterhouse. Wonder if Rothwild’s still alive. Doubt it. Ruined Barrister Timsh too. Though I think that was more fuelled by the fact that he had ruined other people’s lives like the Regent had ruined hers, more than anything. You were doing what you were doing to protect your people. Elizabeth was protecting herself.”

“I don’t think after what I’ve done that I’m fit to be empress.” It was an admission Emily had never made before but voicing it out loud removed a weight off her shoulders that she hadn’t realised was there. “My mother never raised a hand against anyone.”

“And look where it got her,” Billie shot.

Emily all but bristled. “It was not her fault that her government was corrupt.”

“Wasn’t it?” she said. “You’ve managed to root out the majority of the corruption in your court without needing to kill anyone. Granted, Delilah helped bring to light which of your precious nobles would play for the highest bidder but you swept through your court, and replaced half of your advisors. Perhaps your mother should have done the same.”

Billie did not mean what she was saying, Emily had to remind herself. She was speaking the harsh truth regardless of whether or not she believed it.

That did not stop Emily from growing angry. She supressed her emotions, hiding it behind the mask that she constantly wore at court. “It is easier,” she said slowly, “to look back and say what it is you could have changed, now knowing how the events ended.”

The former assassin’s shoulders sagged. “I do not mean to criticise—”

“I know.” Emily reassured though a part of her was screaming to reprimand the woman as she once might have. It had only been a year since Karnaca but Emily couldn’t deny that she had grown. It had been jarring to return to the throne after being away for so long; the uneventfulness of meetings after meetings, after consultations, and countless hours spent in her study signing off on papers. She had hated every second of it. She hated the _idea_ of it, if she was being honest.

And she most certainly wasn’t looking forward to returning to that life.

Regardless, the downtime had done something to Emily’s temper that she did not want to acknowledge. She had recognised it several instances before. She had watched Wyman leave without a word, lips set in a thin line instead of screaming, pleading, and _commanding_ them to stay. Her outburst when her father had all but told her that he was going to Karnaca lacked the usual ferocity. Her disposition had softened, rounding out the harsh edges and corners of her previous temperament until it was something calmer, and more befitting of an empress. She wasn’t entirely certain if this was a good thing but it had certainly helped. Void knew that she’d inherited her violence-driven mentality from her father, and it was a mentality most _definitely_ more befitting of a bodyguard than of an empress.

She wasn’t quite certain where she fit. She possessed the deadliness of her father, and the tact of her mother, but was not as good as her parents at either. Perhaps she had made her own category of rulers who were just as dangerous with a sword as they were with words.

“I know,” Emily repeated with a sigh. “But what is done is done, and we are who we are. Such things cannot be changed.”

“That does not stop us from wanting to change what has happened.”

“No.” The Empress looked off into the distance, lips set into a thin line. “It does not, but that does not stop us from wanting to.”

Despite the chill stinging their faces until they were crimson, the colour seemed to drain from Billie’s face in her exhaustion. “Do you ever think about where we might be if we had been born in a different situation?”

 _Always_. The word was on the tip of her tongue and she longed to say it, if only in a demonstration of her trust in Billie. She couldn’t bring herself say it; the admittance was too personal, struck a little too close to home, and Emily—with all her bravado—couldn’t bring herself to say it. It _angered_ her, to be weakened by something as delicate and as insignificant as her pride. Mouth dry as though she had just swallowed the salt water that sprayed over the side of the boat, Emily shook her head.

“I try not to.”

The Empress’ attempt at skirting the truth did not escape the ever-attentive Billie Lurk, and she turned back to face the sea, her expression as readable as Sokolov’s notes. Which was, to say, not readable at all. “I can’t seem to help myself.” said Billie. “I find myself thinking: what if I hadn’t been born on the streets? What if I’d be born in a middle class family, in a middle class town, and had enough money to ensure that I wouldn’t starve? It’s a life I can only dream of. Even now, my past still seems to chase me.”

Billie’s confession distracted her momentarily of Daud’s presence on the Dreadful Wale. “You seemed to have moved on nicely.”

“In all due respect, you should see the shit I have to put up with.”

Emily laughed, ducking her head. A lock of hair fell out from its pins, draping over one side of her face. “Progress is progress, nonetheless.”

“Full of philosophy today, aren’t you?”

“Full of the _truth_ ,” Emily said, trying not to linger on the idea of what her life could have bene like if she’d been born to two commoners. Her mother had always loved music—perhaps she would have played. Corvo might have joined the guard, quickly rising its ranks but never accepting the position of Royal Protector to whomever the sovereign of the Isles was. They might even have married, and Emily would have adopted her father’s name instead of her mother’s. Void knew where she’d be now. She hadn’t shared her mother’s musical talents. Perhaps she too would have joined the guard.

“The truth is difficult. It is much easier to wallow in it, than swallow it.” Billie’s voice was laced with venom as though she was cursing her own behaviour. “Do you think it would have helped? That it would have changed anything?”

“All paths cross at some point in time, whether the roads intersect or if their influences lead to the creation of another path.” The words were not hers. The Outsider had said them to her what seemed like an eon ago. Had he known she would need to hear them? “But no, I do not think it would.”

Billie’s shoulders sagged with the weight of the world. Emily did not know if Billie merely did not wish to be in this situation or if she was plagued by regret. She knew what the woman had done, but she also knew what had happened to her. The shadow of Death loomed over Billie, taking everyone around the former assassin save for her. She had to watch as everyone she ever loved died, either at her hands or at the hands of someone trying to hurt her. Emily had lost the ones she loved when they died for her, when they died in the name of _her_ empire. Were they cursed, or merely condemned?

It was then that Emily realised that no matter what path she had chosen to take, what situation she had been born in, it would not have kept the Outsider from taking an interest in her. Regardless of her choices, she would have ended up here—perhaps bearing a different name, perhaps with less coin in her pocket, but this road could not have been avoided.

“Doesn’t stop you from dreaming, right?” asked Billie.

No. No, it did not. She dreamt of things she would never be, and of places she’d never go. She dreamt of a future where affections were reciprocated, and Void-black eyes held something a little more personal than amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days, go me. I mean, I'm behind on no less than three assignments, and I'm so exhausted that I really could fall asleep at any moment but let me _tell you_ : there's a chapter that's coming in the near future ft. our two favourite introverts and I'm certain you're going to love it. Granted, it's five chapters away but... As always, leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed!


	15. Changed Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Next time, if you’re going to try and kill me, make certain you go through with it. I’m not going to give you a second chance."_

Empress Emily Kaldwin was not as observant as she thought she was. In fact, it was probably one of her weakest abilities. However, the animosity between Billie and Daud was almost impossible to miss. It was thick, and heavy, all but hanging in the air between them. She tried to ignore them, feet kicked up onto the table. Her nose was buried in a diary she had found— _stolen_ , more like—but she had read it too many times before, and the writing was starting to blur before her eyes. The diary spoke of a child whose mother bore the Outsider’s Mark, and his open practice of heresy. Emily hadn’t expected to find it on the Dreadful Wale, not when she had forgotten it on the boat a year ago.

“You look…” Billie hesitated, twisting a ring around her finger. “Good.”

Daud snorted. “Is that hard to do? Killing an empress does little for one’s appearance.”

If Emily hadn’t been trying so hard to look past what Daud had done, she would have done more than just twitched. She disguised her twitch by adjusting her position, then turned the page of the book. However, from what she saw sitting before her, the Empress couldn’t help but disagree with the woman’s comments. Daud looked tired, like he’d seen too much in his lifetime, and had spent too long regretting all of it.

But if this is what Daud looked like now, what did he look like in the months following that dreadful day?

“I’ve spent years regretting what I did,” Billie said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

“Join the club,” was all that Daud said. He was not a man of particularly many words, though Emily knew that he could be if he tried. His patience did not allow for a large amount of care but his tactlessness still somehow managed to be eloquent. Elizabeth would answer a question with a paragraph. Daud would grunt, say three words, and the effect would be the same. Billie shifted at his words, uncomfortable, uncertain, and unsure of how to react. “It’s the way it works, Billie. Apprentice overthrows and then becomes the master. They take on an apprentice, and then the cycle repeats.”

“You should have killed me.”

“I can still do that now.” Emily couldn’t look over without giving away the fact that she was eavesdropping but the horror that passed over Billie’s face must have been evident as Daud let out a chuckle. “I need you to get me to Tyvia first.”

“Good to know,” she grumbled. “No…I…I saw weakness where there wasn’t any. Jumped too soon. We both know I would have had to do it sooner or later but I shouldn’t have done it then. Is she your second now? She’s not wearing red.”

“Elizabeth?” Daud said. “No. Hasn’t been a second since you. Thomas is gone, and Rinaldo’s disappeared. Black-eyed bastard’s the only one who knows where everyone went.”

“Still doesn’t explain why Elizabeth’s not your second.”

“ _My second wasn’t dead_ ,” Daud hissed. “As much as you deserve to be eaten by the hagfish for what you did, you were still alive, and I wasn’t going to replace you.”

Emily could all but hear Billie crack a smile. “Would you have come found me if you didn’t need my boat?” Daud fell into silence, and a moment later Billie let out a breath. “Ah.”

“You tried to kill Elizabeth,” Daud’s voice was laced with venom.

“I tried to kill you.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t do a good job. Next time, if you’re going to try and kill me, make certain you go through with it. I’m not going to give you a second chance.”

“Shouldn’t have given me a second chance in the first place, sir.”

If Emily had flinched at Daud’s passing mention of her mother, he all but recoiled at the use of his title. Neither Elizabeth nor Daud were the most hysterical people, hiding behind collected masks that rivalled Emily’s composure. Out of the corner of her eye, the Empress caught sight of the Knife of Dunwall straightening the collar of his jacket.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was quiet, tentative, as though someone had suddenly thrown him into the icy waters, leaving him to fend for himself. The grey in his dark hair seemed that much more prominent as exhaustion swept over his features. “I don’t deserve that name anymore.”

“After everything you did for us—”

“I stole you off of the streets, and shoved a blade into your hands so I could earn a profit,” Daud said. His words came out in a whisper but it did nothing to disguise his bitterness. “I didn’t _save_ you. I traded one toxic situation for another.”

“I’m certain you’re the only who thinks that, sir.” Billie paused, considering her next words. “Where would Elizabeth be if you hadn’t taken her in? The Golden Cat? I don’t think her being there would have stopped you from seeing her—”

Emily was not certain if Billie was _trying_ to antagonize Daud, but she was certainly doing a good job of it. She wasn’t surprised when Daud brought his hand down on the table with such force that it sent a mug clattering off the side with a crash. “Leave her out of this before I _make_ you.”

“You think _I_ wouldn’t have ended up in the same position?” Billie hissed. “It might even have been worse for me. After what I did, you think I wouldn’t have suffered at the hands of Luca Abele? You saw what he was like—”

“Leave,” repeated Daud, hands curling into fists, “Elizabeth out of this.”

Billie let out a bitter laugh. “What about Galia then? If you hadn’t trained her, she would have been one of the Golden Cat’s girls, not in charge of their security. You were _gone_ , and what you did for us _still_ made an impact.” She reached across the table, uncurling Daud’s fists. “I’m not saying this change of heart isn’t…good, but that doesn’t negate the importance—”

“ _Importance_?” hissed Daud. “Tell that to sons and daughters of the people I killed. Tell that to Elizabeth, who lost her father to a man _I_ helped put on the throne. Tell that to Thalia Timsh who got everything she ever wanted, but lost everything along the way. Tell that to Hume’s men who followed him blindly and had to pay with their freedom. To Lizzy Stride who lost _half_ of her men! Tell that to _Emily_ , who lost her innocence and was given a crown instead!” His voice grew to an uproar until he was shaking in his seat, trying to quell his rage. “Do _not_ tell me that what I did was good.”

Billie swallowed, and looked down at her hands. “You saved me.”

“Doesn’t negate the amount of lives I stole,” Daud said, struggling to get his temper under control. He pushed his chair back with a screech, his body shaking with rage that Emily would never understand. “It would help, _your Majesty_ , to make your attempt at eavesdropping more believable.” He reached over, and turned the page she’d spent the past several minutes staring at.

She was left sputtering, speechless for the first time in years, slamming her book shut within moments of marching off to his designated room. “I am surrounded,” she said, “by the most sociable, and polite people in the Isles.”

Billie did not find her quip as amusing as Emily did. She crossed her arms thought it was something more akin to giving herself a hug. “You were the one that brought us together.” Emily did not acknowledge her remark, and Billie grimaced under her scrutinising gaze. “Will you do me a favour? Don’t mention this to Elizabeth. She doesn’t need another reason dislike me.”

The Empress turned back to the diary, shrugging her shoulders. “I was too busy reading to pay attention.” she said, shooting Billie a wink. The ship’s captain disappeared to take back her station from Elizabeth but it was only when the door clicked shut did Emily let out a sigh.

It was evident that she did not know half of the past Billie, Elizabeth, and Daud shared. She was starting to piece it together but if whatever had created the rift between them was linked with her mother’s death… Well, it was sufficient to say that Emily did not want to know. She doubled over, placing the book to the side, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

She was the youngest of the four but why did she feel as though she was mothering them? There was evidently no love lost between Elizabeth and Billie. The noblewoman all but spat her words through her teeth when they had to converse. Billie had said that she had underestimated the noblewoman’s abilities, but Daud had said that she’d tried to kill Elizabeth.

Did the old Knife of Dunwall really have a heart? Emily couldn’t help but ponder the question. He seemed fiercely protective of Elizabeth, even if their relationship was far from conventional, but when they were both assassins, normal was something they would never be able to achieve. All particularities aside, she was most certainly jealous.

Every time Elizabeth spoke of Daud, her entire face lit up, and even Daud was unable to keep a twitching smile off of his lips when her name was mentioned. Was it so selfish for Emily to want that for herself, regardless of her station? It was times like this that Emily longed for her mother’s company. She had let people call her a harlot under their breaths, and had never once let it affect her. Emily was her daughter, regardless of whether or not her father was formally recognised. When Emily had announced Corvo as her father, the court had been outraged but she didn’t care. It was an action her mother had always wanted to do herself but had never been brave enough to do it, and Emily would be damned if she didn’t live up to her mother’s reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, the only note I made for this chapter was _Chapter Fifteen: Emily Gets Fucking Dragged by the Author_ and I think that says a lot about me as a writer. Also, three chapters in three days, look at me! Don't forget to leave a comment or a kudo if you enjoyed!


	16. The Lament of the Deep Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"If she was going to fail, she was going to fail spectacularly. The world would end in flames, not a whimper as that one poet had said, and she would ensure as much."_

Emily had never thought that she would be in this situation again. Travelling far off to distant lands that she had never been to with company she otherwise would never have dared to associate herself with… The first time had been an outlier, and yet here she was, with the company of a noblewoman ruined by the Lord Regent, the man who had killed her mother, and the woman who had turned her back on the world for a life on the seas.

Was this what history would remember of her? That she had sailed the seas of her empire, preferring to take matters into her own hands rather than let someone else do it for her? She supposed it was better than most legacies. After all, even as a child, she had _dreamed_ of being in this situation. Sailing the seas, a sword at her hip, and a noble quest at hand… She was just as brave as the heroes in the stories she had read as a child.

Somehow…It wasn’t all that she’d made it out to be.

Her reign was far more chaotic than most, but that was to be expected after ascending during the middle of a plague, and after the previous ruler’s assassination. From the start, her reign had been different. It was reasonable to say that her reign had done nothing but continue on the path it had been set on.

The Outsider could say what he would about options, about her having as much of an integral part in her future as anything else but once things had begun, they had to end. It was an inevitable truth that Emily had learned at far too young of an age. Things could end in blood, or things could end in nothing but a comfort quietude. On rare occasions, perhaps even both.

In her eyes, Emily had been destined to walk this path ever since Daud had accepted Burrow’s contract. And he had accepted Burrow’s contract because of what had forced him to become an assassin in the first place. And those that had forced him to become an assassin had been following orders—

Everything had a cause.

And everything caused something else.

The Outside was the only singularity. He existed apart from anything else, in a world where time and space was meaningless, and had been gifted the powers of a god as he lay on that altar, his throat slit. He existed separate from his human counterpart, and simultaneously was the same person.

He could do what he pleased, when he pleased, without facing repercussions.

Or so she had thought.

The consequence of every action he had made seemed to be coming back to face him now. It had held off for over four thousand years, and now, he was paying the price. Perhaps he wasn’t as enigmatic as she had once thought. He was a part of this world now, after all the meddling he had done, and now he had to abide by this world’s rules.

The Empress removed her coat, draping it over the back of her chair as she sat down at her desk. Her journal remained precisely where she had left it last year, her pen close by. Her hand reached out for the pen, and she uncapped it with her thumb. The pen hovered over the paper as Emily debated transcribing the current events. She’d written about Delilah if only because it was the only thing that had kept her sane. Now, this situation almost seemed ludicrous in comparison. Delilah had been a mess, but Emily could handle a coup. Perhaps she could even handle witchcraft. The Outsider was a whole different matter.

He was a god, and now he was dying.

The pen clattered from her fingers as she held her head in her hands. She almost threw herself away from the desk, collapsing into her bed.

“Be careful, your Majesty,” said the Outsider, shimmering into existence the instant she buried herself under the covers. “The dangers here are half as evident as those in Karnaca. They hide behind masks, and their identities have been erased from existence.”

Emily lazily opened one eye to see the Outsider perched on the edge of her desk, twiddling a pen between her fingers. They were over a week into their journey, and the Outsider had all but disappeared. She was almost irritated with him. Yes, she was used to him disappearing but when the amount of visits he had gifted her with outnumbered the visits he’d paid her last year… She could sufficiently say that she expected more of him.

“Are you warning me?” she asked, pushing herself, and wrapping her bed covers around her shoulder. The temperature of the boat’s interior had dropped severely since they had first entered Tyvian waters. Not even her were safe from the biting cold, and above deck it was twice as bad. The wind _tore_ through seams of her jacket as though bent on giving her hypothermia. She did not know how she would manage when they finally got to Tyvia.

The Outsider remained silent, the closest to a shrug he’d ever give her.

“You are not meant to get involved.”

“You are currently on a quest to prevent my death,” the Outsider said, rematerializing on the other side of her. “Bit late, no?’

Emily ran her tongue over her lower lip, glancing down at her hands. Her skin still burned with the Outsider’s kiss beneath her thick gloves. “I suppose.”

They had started down this path, and despite how much her tutors and her father may argue—saying that she procrastinated more than she ever did anything—Emily was not one to _not_ see something through to the end. If she was going to fail, she was going to fail _spectacularly_. The world would end in flames, not a whimper as that one poet had said, she would ensure that.

However, failure was not something that boded particularly well for Emily in this situation.

She had few qualms about dying for her people but no matter how many times she told herself that, her heart couldn’t agree. She was still young, with much that she wanted to do. She hated to compare herself to her mother, knowing that it made her nothing but bitter, but by the time Jessamine Kaldwin was her age, Emily was already four years of age. Not that she wanted children, but it was her _duty_ to provide another heir to the throne. She’d read about the disaster that had occurred when the previous line of rulers had died out.

But it wasn’t just the lack of fulfilling her duties that made her stomach churn.

She had seen very little of her world. Until recently, she’d scarcely left Dunwall. There was so much to do, so much to see, so much to experience. She _had_ to succeed, there was no other choice.

If not for her, then for…

She looked to her side, the Outside meeting her gaze with a quizzically raised brow. “You’re not allowed to die,” she said finally.”

He couldn’t seem to contain his amusement. “Oh?”

“No,” she said firmly, her fear leaking into her voice. “Not on me. You are not allowed to die on me.”

The Great Leviathan chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “As your Majesty commands.”

“No—I…I just….” Emily began as the Outsider began to smirk. She sighed in frustration, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have too much to deal with, and if you die on me, I swear—”

She fell silent, her Marked hand grabbing her opposite shoulder. Remaining eloquent under duress was something that seemed to never seemed to escape Emily. She could remain cool, could remain collected, but the instant she was asked to make some sort of grand speech, she found herself struggling. It did not help that the Outsider didn’t fail to make her uneasy. The being _exuded_ danger, and the thick scent of the Void that seemed to follow him made her head spin.

“If you die on me,” she began again, “I swear I will drag you from wherever you have gone, just so I can kill you myself.”

The Outsider’s smile grew, his black eyes glittering in amusement. “As,” he repeated slowly, “your Majesty commands.”

She huffed, turning up her nose as they sat in silence. Empress Emily Kaldwin, and the Outsider. It was an unlikely pairing, and one that Emily’s ancestors most definitely would have frowned upon. Quite frankly, she couldn’t say that she cared. After what the Outsider had done to help her—or put her on this path, rather—it was undeniable that he was as important to her as Corvo was.

Emily leaned into the Outsider’s side, the God flinching at her touch but not doing anything to stop her. He let her remain there, her breathing syncing with his, though he let out no air when he exhaled. He may have looked human, felt human, perhaps even _behaved_ human on occasion, but he would never _be_ human.

She couldn’t forget that, even if she wanted to.

The boat rocked in the waves as Billie navigated through the deep sea, metres above where the Deep Ones swam. Icebergs drifted by the small porthole, and Emily did not know how Billie managed to navigate her way through the maze of ice. Every twist, every turn was carefully calculated.

Hours passed, Emily remaining by the Outsider’s side. They did not speak, even as the sun began to set over the blue horizon. Stars began to shine with a light impossible for this world. It was almost though someone had torn the great expanse with millions of pinpricks, and the light that shone through was the light of a distant universe.

Then, all of a sudden, the Dreadful Wale came to a stop.

“Congratulations, your Majesty,” said the Outsider, the first words that had been spoken in hours, “you’ve arrived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're off to see Tyvia, the wonderful winter hellscape~ As always, leave a kudo or a comment if you enjoyed, and I'll see you in snowy tundras of the northernmost part of the Isles.


	17. A Vile Witches Brew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Karnaca really did open your eyes. The corruption, the filth, it never bothered you before, did it? Then you saw what it could do. You saw how treachery can creep its tendrils anywhere, corrupting anything that was once good and pure. Not that any of us are good, now are we? Only when you're up close, can you see how twisted we truly are."_

The wind howled as Emily emerged from below deck, throwing snowy dust that seemed to be made out of millions of razor-sharp pieces of ice into her eyes. Her breath hung in the air, almost seeming to crystallize, as she stepped off the boat and onto Dabokva’s docks. She blinked lazily, snow settling down over her face, tugging her scarf up over the over half of her face.

“Great,” Daud grumbled. “We’re here. Where are we going now?”

“I have heard,” said Elizabeth, fumbling to do up the buttons on her coat, “that inns and taverns are a rather good place to pick up a rumour or two.”

Emily pursed her lips together behind her scarf. “I’m not certain if I want to discover how you learned this.”

“Oh, there is this _lovely_ woman named Hulda—” began Elizabeth, shooting a wink at the Empress. She flipped up her hood, casting her scarred features in shadows. “I would say that we should split up, if only to cover more ground, but…” She shook her head. “I imagine that it might be a risk. It’s up to you, your Majesty. Shall we split up, or continue together?”

She paused for a moment, then shook her head, her up-do wobbling unsteadily. “I will meet you back here in forty minutes. Find out what you can.”

Elizabeth bowed her head, grabbing Daud’s arm as they Transversed away, disappearing in a whisper of the Void. She glanced back over her shoulder at a smirking Billie who saluted her just before Emily answered the Void’s call, letting it pull her across streets and alleyways. She fell into a roll as she landed on rooftop, slowing her momentum enough that she could stand.

“Look at you,” the Outsider said from behind her. “Karnaca really did open your eyes. The corruption, the filth, it never bothered you before, did it? Then you saw what it could do. You saw how treachery can creep its tendrils anywhere, corrupting anything that was once good and pure. Not that any of us are good, now are we? Only when you’re up close, can you see how twisted we truly are.”

She did not deign to look at him, peering down into the streets below. “You’ve been awfully talkative lately.”

“Call it boredom.”

“Is it?” Emily said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He did not answer. “You’re getting involved—”

“If you’re dying, you might as well live a little,” he shot at her. “As the Empress, are you not supposed to remain fair and just?”

“I _am_ being fair and just,” she argued.

“Tell me, then,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Did you spare those lives in Karnaca for the good of your empire or because you did not want their blood on your hands? You wear a crown, and you wear it better than most, but you are just as selfish as the rest of them.”

“If you insist on harassing me when I am not petitioning for your attention at one of your shrines, would you care to be helpful?” Emily asked, crouching as she reached through the Void, and onto a balcony of an abandoned house across the street. Less than a second later, the Outsider materialised by her side.

Miffed, he turned his nose up at the mess surrounding them, hovering several inches off of the dirtied floor. Newspapers from years long since passed, empty cans of food, and stained mattresses littered the space as though someone had spent months camped out here, in the shadow of a once formidable home. “There is a woman two streets from here,” he murmured, “they call her a witch, they say that she knows all, that her blood bleeds the Void. The rumours hold more truth than you know.”

Her countenance softened, “Thank you.”

He shrugged half-heartedly, making no move to disappear whence he’d come. He watched her in a silence that seemed indicative of the Outsider petulance as though he was biting his tongue to keep from remarking as she snuck through the back alleys of Tyvia. By the time she’d made her way to the rickety shack the Outsider seemed to say was where she needed to go with that signature incline of his head—damn him to the Void, he didn’t have to be silent just less…interruptive—Emily’s pockets were lined with all sorts of trinkets. Small pieces of bone, loose change, dropped containers of ammunition… Perhaps her kleptomaniac of a father was rubbing off on her.

A bell rang as Emily pushed the door to the shack open, the walls lined with countless shelves of jars full of unknown liquids. Boughs of various plants and trees hung over her head, pine needles falling on her head as she failed to duck underneath one, her gaze too busy locked on a strange assortment of skeletons on a table. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of various herbs causing Emily’s nose to wrinkle as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

“A guest and a half,” a heavily accented female voice said from somewhere within the depths of the shop. “Both wearing a crown, and having an empire but only one as cold as ice, and the other as hot as fire. Shall I leave you to figure out which?” A woman just as tall as Emily—impressive, considering how tall Emily was—emerged, her hand hovering over her hip. Skin as dark as midnight, no shade of any mahogany even comparing to its deep colour, stretched over a symmetry that even Emily—who had little appreciation for art, despite Sokolov’s chagrin—couldn’t help but want to admire. Wild eyes darted back and forth between Emily and the Outsider, and white teeth poked out from behind her lips as she began to smile. “Welcome.”

“Can you—” she began.

“See your friend?” she finished, then shook her head. A mess of curly hair fell over her eyes. “No, but I can tell when he’s here. A little trick, taught to me when I was but a child. You cannot revere one you cannot see. Hello, dear.” She shot a wink at the space the Outsider stood, long lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks when she closed her eyes. “You want assistance, yes?”

“To be honest, I am not quite certain why I am here,” she confessed, running her finger tips over the lid of a jar containing a snake with a pattern she’d never seen before.

The woman tutted, shaking her head towards the Outsider’s general direction. “Silent? Unlike you.”

“I might have told him to be quieter,” Emily muttered under her breath. “Did not mean him to take it to heart.”

The woman laughed, throwing her head back in delight. She almost seemed to radiate in the small shop, casting a light of her own. “Come, come, I know what you require. Bones have been read, I know what you seek.” She waved for the young Empress to follow her further into the shop.

“Who is she?” whispered Emily as she followed after her.

“The women of Pandyssia know that there are things that cannot be done without…assistance,” the Outsider answered, picking up a piece of bone the size of a coin with a hole drilled through it. He held it for a moment then handed it to Emily who took it without question, keeping it tight in her fist. “Here, witchcraft is reserved for the crazed. The women who dance around fires, bared to the night sky. Some magic is quieter. A coin that never tarnishes. A spring of clean water in a desert. Running late to a meeting, only to discover that your clocks were late and you were right on time.” He cracked a smile, “Even then, a potion or a few muttered words might help.”

“You’re telling me she’s a witch?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Some call her an apothecary. Back in Pandyssia, they’d simply call her by her name but you would not be able to pronounce it as it is meant to. She has been here longer than you know, and knows this. Brailde will suffice.”

“ _Come_ , child!” Brailde called insistently.

Emily cursed everything that had ever lead to her being here. She pushed through a curtain of hand-strung wooden beads, stepping into a large open space that was nearly twice the size of the front area. The space seemed to be tidier, if only because there was less back here, but no less hectic. Pages upon pages littered the floor, writing she could not read covering every available surface.

“That which will be finished must be finished by resolving that which started it,” Brailde said, rummaging through a drawer. “You must seek the source of your problems.”

“Yes, there is a town—”

“ _No_ ,” said Braidle. She paused. “Well, yes, you must go there too. Discover what they have done but that is where _His_ problems began. Not yours.”

“This is not about me.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Years have passed, and you still think that this is not about you. Tell me, Emily Kaldwin, when was the last thing something significant occurred that did not involve you? This path started with you, and it will end with you. Jessamine Kaldwin and the heir that prevented the one thing Hiram Burrows wanted. The elimination of one, and the manipulation of the other. The path your father walked those years ago would have been much shorter if you were not there, child. I do not think he even would have walked it if not for you. He could not save one, so he had to save the other. His one motivation, rendered irrelevant if not for you.

“A man—jealous of the gift your father received—stopped in an attempt to save you. A mirror that could twist reality destroyed to please _you_. Pleasing you meant pleasing him. You allowed yourself to be manipulated, and you left him to suffer. Your aunt, hungry for the power the illegitimate daughter of her sister possessed. A ruler cruel to his people, and an Empress blind to their suffering. The rug was swept out from under your feet, but would there have been a rug if you were not there? Your father may have stepped up but why would he fight for an empire he had no claim to? So you see, Emily Kaldwin, this has only ever been about _you_.”

Her stomach twisted in knots and when she looked down at her feet, Brailde laughed.

“She learns quickly.” She pried the hollow bone from Emily’s fists, turning it over in her own hands. “The blade that corrupts all it touches. Twisted by itself, but held by people that give it its power. Find it.”

“Zhukov’s knife?” Emily said, confused, her mind racing back to those years ago. The knife had been lost when Zhukov’s mirror had crashed, and have never been found amidst the rubble that was left behind. “That…That’s gone.”

“The blade that gave life can take it away just as easily.” Brailde’s eyes locked on the Outsider. “What makes you think that a knife with the power to create a god does not have the power to destroy it? That it can be destroyed in the first place?” She strung the piece of bone through a long piece of string, knotting it as she set it around Emily’s neck. “Protection,” she muttered.

“I don’t understand why we need the knife,” Emily muttered, toying with the bone. She did not understand what the Pandyssian witch meant by protection but the Outsider shook his head the instant the thought of taking it off crossed her mind.

Brailde slapped her hand away, seeming to agree with the Outsider. “Fickle magic. Stop playing. The knife may not be the source of your problems, Emily Kaldwin, but it could very well end up being it. Locate it. Hide it. Forget it. Ensure that it never becomes a problem or you will have to do this again. I do not know what he does but I know any threat is something to be eradicated. Clean up your messes before they begin.”

The woman forced her into a hand-carved chair before turning to the nearby desk, grabbing nearby bottles and biting the corks off. She began to mix various items, crushing a handful of unknown leaves in a granite mortar and pestle, letting out a pungent, bitter smell that made Emily wrinkle her nose. She threw in a dash a clear liquid before hesitating, and adding another sprinkle of the crushed leaves in, shaking the bottle up.

“Knife?” Brailde asked, not looking away from the bottle, and holding her hand out.

Emily glanced around frantically, grabbing a gleaming silver dagger from a nearby chair, and handing it over the witch. “What are you doing?”

“Binding,” she said. “You can’t destroy something that does the destroying. Bind its power to another, share it between the two, and it will be weakened.” She poured the potion over the blade then held it over a candle. The entire thing lit up, shining with enough light that Emily had to look away. Half a second later the flames disappeared, leaving nothing but a soot covered blade. Brailde gave it back to Emily. “Should anyone try to use that cursed knife, they’ll find that it is not as powerful as it once was. Be careful. This blade holds much of its sister’s power, and it _will_ call to its sister. Anything that has power and has some of it taken away _will_ try to get it back.”

“What do you mean ‘call’?”

“You may find yourself drawn in a direction you were not intending to go before…” Brailde’s dark eyes landed on the blade as she shook her head. “Be careful, Emily Kaldwin. The Outsider may be guiding you down this path but nothing can protect you from the dangers you are about to face. Know that before you continue.” She reached over, her fingertips brushing over the bone hanging around her neck as her free hand shoved the soot-covered blade towards Emily. “May the Void watch over you,” she said in something akin to a farewell before laughing to herself, muttering something about the Outsider watching over Emily as she opened a back door and ushered Emily out.

It had stopped snowing since she had entered Brailde’s shop. Instead, the small white pellets littered the pavement as Emily stepped out into the alleyway. The temperature almost seemed to have dropped, or perhaps Brailde’s shop was just warm. Emily thought it was the latter. Any colder than it was before seemed impossible.

“Interesting woman,” she murmured, more to herself than to the Outsider. She had her sword out and unsheathed in less than a second as something clattered behind her. She spun around wildly, shoulders sagging when she saw Elizabeth’s hooded figure.

“Do you intend to stab me with that?” Elizabeth asked, the portal behind her remaining open.

“You startled me,” Emily said, putting her sword away. “You find something?”

“I thought you might want to check it out rather than hearing me talk about it,” Elizabeth said, shoving her gloved hands in her pocket. Emily noticed that aside from the crossbow and sword that hung at her waist, Elizabeth held little in the way of weapons. She supposed that the woman’s gifts were better suited to stealth, or combat from a distance.

Emily stepped into the portal, through the Void, and into a dingy, dark apartment. It hurt her to see poverty even in the relatively financially-stable Tyvia. The rat plague had left many houses like this in Dunwall, despite how much money Emily had put into rebuilding the city. She suppose poverty was poverty, and there would always be an injustice in the world that she couldn’t fix.

But it was not the crumbling floorboards or rotten walls that threatened to render Emily speechless.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Emily said in a voice scarcely above a whisper, her eyes wildly looking about. The Outsider had disappeared, now when she needed his support more than ever. Typical.

“I was hoping,” said Elizabeth, hand resting on her hip, “You could tell me.”

The walls of the apartment were _covered_ in sheets of paper, each pinned to the walls with nails, slivers of wood, sewing needles…The size of each paper differed, as did the size of the writing upon them but they all had something in common:

They all said her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Not so subtle reference to a character from another Bethesda game there...~~
> 
> If you enjoyed, leave a kudos or a review <3 (Oh, and if you want to follow my Dishonored tumblr, it's markoftheleviathan.tumblr.com)


	18. Ponderous, Esoteric Clues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"All this time, people had been after what Emily possessed. Now that the only thing that she had left, the only thing that had only ever been hers, was herself, they were coming after that too."_

Dozens of papers crunched underfoot as Emily made her way around the apartment. Her heart raced in her chest though she couldn’t quite understand why. There was no threat to her life, not in this room, but there was only one other time Emily had been this scared.

When she had walked into battle with Delilah, knowing that only one of them could sit on the throne.

There was little she could say to articulate the mixture of confusion and fear that currently plagued her. She settled for reaching to the ground and picking up a piece of paper, crushing it in her hands. She was practically trembling. No. She _was_ trembling. Outsider help her, was someone out to get her? Had she not sacrificed enough already? Her mother, stolen by a mad Spymaster. Her childhood, stolen by the rat plague and corrupt politicians. Her father’s sanity, stolen by months of Coldridge prison and the desperation to save his daughter. Her friends at the Hound Pits, stolen by Havelock and his lust for power. Callista, by the seas and the monsters of the deep. Her father _again_ , stolen by Delilah’s power-hungry hands. Her kingdom, stolen _also_ by Delilah and her need to regain what she thought was rightfully hers.

And now someone was after her.

She supposed it was natural. All this time, people had been after what Emily possessed. Now that the only thing that she had left, the only thing that had only ever been hers, was herself, they were coming after that too.

The paper crumpled in Emily’s hand as it curled into a fist.

“I can’t seem to catch a break,” she said shakily, breathing her words out on a sigh.

“It does not look lived in for a few years, at least.” Elizabeth kicked a mattress, a cloud of dust puffing up from the foam. “That bodes well.”

“Does it?”

“It could be worse, Emily,” reminded Elizabeth in a tone so maternal that it almost took the empress by surprise.

She looked up from the ground suddenly. “Have you ever thought about having children?”

The noblewoman raised her brow, “Hardly a question that does not hold some ulterior motive.”

“Distract me, _please_.”

Elizabeth let out a breath, and took a seat on the ground, her legs pulled to the side. For a woman who had not been in court for _years_ , she held more manners expected of a woman of her status than Emily did. “It never really crossed my mind,” said Elizabeth, drawing patterns in the dust covering the uneven floorboards. “One time, perhaps, but my days of ball gowns swirling in a flurry of colours under the stars are long since gone. When I was younger, I used to dream of it. Being a mother, a wife…The nobles mocked me for that. Said I was nothing more than another Lady Bushford with her head in the clouds. They thought that my dreams made me weak, that I was not their equal because I had the stereotypical dream of marrying a prince.”

She paused for a long moment, her face nearly disappearing under her hood as she ducked her head. While they had not known each other longer, Emily could tell that Elizabeth was not somebody who would allow people to treat her as anything less than them.

“I showed them,” Elizabeth continued in a whisper. “When I was about your age, some of my… _friends_ left me stuck up in a tree. I could not get down. My dress kept getting caught in the branches, and instead of getting help, instead of doing _anything_ , my friends laughed. They laughed, and they laughed, and they laughed. Do you know what I did? I ripped the bottom portion of my dress off, took of my shoes, and I scaled down at that thing. Then, I chased after them. Beat them with my shoes. I think I gave one of them a black eye. Poor girl had to meet her betrothed for the first time the next day…” She gave the Empress a wicked smile, all teeth, and no joy. “Few people dared to underestimate me from that point on.”

Emily found herself laughing. “I don’t imagine becoming an assassin helped.”

Elizabeth soon joined in. “That is true, but now that this is my profession… I do not think it would be a suitable environment in which to raise a child. Why do you…why do you ask?”

The Empress closed her eyes and leaned back. “I do not know if I long for a child,” she admitted. “A partner, perhaps. I do believe I would like to have an equal.”

“Has there been none who could match you?”

“Few, but they ultimately found the troubles of a throne they would never sit upon…too great to handle,” Emily said, listening to her heart. It had calmed considerably before they’d started talking. She rubbed her temples, “We need to figure out what’s going on here.”

“I get the feeling that it is nothing good,” Elizabeth said, eyes glancing down to the piece of bone hanging around her neck. “Ah, so you met Brailde?”

“You know her?”

“I _was_ formerly known as the Witch of Dunwall,” Elizabeth said, toying with the ring around her neck. “She paid me a visit in Serkonos a few years back. Warned me of Delilah, said that I needed to reconnect with an old friend.”

Her eyes widened. “Billie… She said she needed help with—”

“Emily, darling, my ability to see into others’ minds also allows me to plant ideas into their minds. However, I did not give her the idea for her to search for assistance. I only…prompted the thought she had to come see you.”

She found herself flushing, red creeping over her cheeks. She had almost forgotten that all of Elizabeth’s gifts allowed her to see into the minds of others and manipulate their thoughts to her liking. She had long since suspected that the Outsider’s gifts were linked to what would suit their skills best but Elizabeth’s gifts only confirmed this theory. She pushed herself to her feet, glancing about the apartment. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything else here.”

“I looked before I came to get you; there is not a _single_ clue regarding who might have once resided here,” said Elizabeth, readjusting her hood. “We should get back to Billie.” She waved her hand, a portal shimmering into existence.

Emily shot one last pained glance towards the papers littering the apartment before stepping through, Elizabeth following seconds later.

Neither of them noticed the initials G.F carved into the floorboards.


	19. Redemptive Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"She blamed herself for not seeing it sooner. Blamed herself for being blind to the rampant corruption in her own empire. Emily would never again sit idly by while the lives of her people were at risk."_

The map collided with the table with such a loud bang that Emily almost winced at the sound. It unrolled itself, the edges of the map draping over the table. She often wondered what lay past them, what sort of strange creatures and fascinating societies existed in Pandyssia. If the people were anything like Brailde and Billie, Emily might very well have to fund an expedition to Pandyssia. None of the expeditions in the past had been received particularly well, the most recent one having led to the rat plague, but now that it was in the Outsider’s best interest that Emily’s empire be protected…

He had disappeared the instant she had entered the apartment but she could still feel his presence at her side. Ice cold fingertips dancing over her shoulders, and his breath that did not exhale air that was of this world… She shivered.

“We need to go,” began Daud, picking up a small rock he found on the floor of the ship and setting it down on the north eastern coast of Tyvia, “here.”

“There’s no way we’ll be able to take the ship all the way up there.” Billie crossed her arms over her chest as she bent over the map. “The entire coast is _riddled_ with icebergs this time of year. Getting out of Dunwall in the fog was difficult enough. If you haven’t noticed,” the Captain jabbed a finger towards the porthole, “it seems to be setting in down here too.”

“Someday, the Void will devour all the lights in the sky,” whispered Emily, her eyes downcast. She looked up only to see everyone expectantly waiting for her to explain further. “Something…Something my mother used to say. The Outsider gifted her heart to my father. She used to speak to him but it…It wasn’t the same. A cruel gift, and a cruel gift the Outsider bestowed me with… A gift, I had to exchange for the opportunity to kill Delilah.”

She didn’t know if she’d ever seen Daud this pained. Something all too human flashed across his scarred features, and he turned back to the map, jaw clenched, and hands curled into fists. “She wasn’t wrong,” he said, quietly. “We began in the Void, and we will end the Void. You think that this has something to do with this?”

“The Outsider is the Void’s connection to our world,” she said. “As far as I can tell, he seems to keep the Void’s relationship with our world in balance. If he’s dying—” Daud swore under his breath, understanding where she was going, “—it would seem that this balance is being disrupted.”

“Which is _also_ why all the whales are dying,” Billie added.

The Empress’ hands knotted. “Before they started dying, Wyman said that the whales were gathering in Morley’s harbours and singing their songs in reverse.”

If Daud or Elizabeth were confused by Wyman’s identity, both of them had the sense not to ask.

“You didn’t think to investigate?” Daud asked.

“Wyman _also_ said that Morley is on the verge of going to war with Gristol,” she shot back, all venom, “And thus, I did not think it would be appropriate. The state of Morley has not changed in the past year, and I have been preoccupied running an empire in the wake of Delilah’s coup. Forgive me.”

His only response was a snort.

She rubbed at the scar from the fishhook all those years ago absentmindedly. Her mother had insisted that Corvo teach her how to fish, only to be horrified when Emily had earned a fishhook in the arm. Corvo, despite all his perpetually calm demeanour, had found the situation equal parts hilarious and concerning. Now, years later, there was nothing left but a small raised mark on her arm that was insignificant to the other marks she had littering her body. Bullet wounds, crossbow scars, knotted stretches of skin where she had been unable to escape a blade... She supposed those were insignificant in comparison to the Outsider’s Mark.

It was difficult for Emily to understand just how much she had changed. To think that little over a year ago, she had been a completely different woman. Unaffected, unconcerned, unperturbed by the misery around her. She had blamed her citizens for their situation. Blamed them for not getting a better job, a better life, a better _everything_. Now, she blamed herself for not seeing it sooner. Blamed herself for being blind to the rampant corruption in her own empire.

Emily would never again sit idly by while the lives of her people were at risk.

Even if that meant siding with the man she would never forgive.

She had moved past that, she realised, as she looked around her. Meagan Foster—now Billie Lurk. Lady Elizabeth Bushford—now simply Elizabeth Bushford, wife to Daud…

Daud.

There was a kindness, a _softness_ to him that she had not noticed before. The flicker of light in his eyes when he caught Elizabeth mid-laugh. The fatherly protectiveness he showed Billie, even if he did grumble rather tetchily about her betrayal. The fierce dedication he showed to Corvo for sparing his life. The regret that passed through him every time Emily mentioned her mother’s name, every time she longed for something she had lost because of him.

She knew she shouldn’t be dwelling on this as much as she was but how could she not? Daud had been an integral part of her life for the past sixteen years, and as much as she hated to admit it, he’d become a part of her. They were bound now, by history, and by blood.

“I can take you as far as Yaro,” said Billie. “Any further north, and we’ll be trapped in the ice. You’ll have to find another way of getting to the village from there.”

“I’m not even certain what we’re going to do when we get there,” admitted Daud.

“Find the Outsider’s shrine, see if anyone has been messing with it, and try to uncover who has done this,” Elizabeth said, falling into a chair, frustrated resignation leaking into her voice. “Then we stop them, and try to figure out how to fix this before we all die and the Void kills us all.”

This certainly was not going to be easy. Emily had known who her enemies were in Karnaca. Now, in this unfamiliar land of snow and ice, she was left guessing where her enemies were hiding. “We’ll be fine.” She did not know if she believed what she was saying but she couldn’t afford to show her weakness now. “We have the Outsider on our side.”

“Won’t do much help if the black-eyed bastard’s dead.”

“Daud, darling, do stop being so disagreeable,” Elizabeth murmured, throwing an arm over her eyes as she reclined. She yawned, “You _are_ right but let the girl inspire what little hope she can.”

“ _Perhaps_ if you used your gifts to see what was coming—” began Daud.

“It does not work like that, and you know it.”

“You could _try_.”

“ _Or_ we could stop wasting time, and head out.” Elizabeth all but propelled herself off the chair, landing half a foot away from the chair. She turned to the Empress. “What do you say, your Majesty? You ready to head out, or do you want to check something else out?”

She shook her head, taking a seat in the chair Elizabeth had only just abandoned. “No, we should make as much use of the time we have. We don’t know how much longer we have. The whales have disappeared entirely, and the Void already seems to be enveloping Tyvia in darkness. Let’s try to get this finished before it gets any worse.”

“Oil’s costing an arm and a leg right now because of the whales,” Billie complained, the irony not lost on Emily.

“We’ll come up with a solution,” Emily said, trying to reassure her, “but first… We need to deal with this.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Emily. I’m more than happy to help,” Billie cracked a smile, nudging the young empress in the side. “ _However_ , you’re footing the oil bill.”

“I hardly think I have the right to complain.”

“You’re right,” Billie said, buttoning her coat. “You don’t.” From anyone else, the words might have even been considered treasonous—such a tone was _hardly_ appropriate when speaking to an empress—but Emily found herself cracking a relieved smile.

Such informality was rarely taken with her, even by those that considered themselves her friend. The only other person who saw past her title, who saw right through her was the Outsider but then again, she would never be his equal. She was only treated with any shred of decency by him because of the interest he took in her. He was a boot, and she was an ant. He could crush her underfoot without a second thought.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised as a whisper of a breath passed over her. “You think so very little of yourself, Emily Kaldwin, for an empress.”

She pushed her shoulders back, refusing to let the others know that the Outsider had chosen to grant her with his presence. She was unable to disguise the pursing of her lips, however, and it did not escape the others’ notice but none of them commented on her odd behaviour. Emily Kaldwin was an elusive woman with many secrets, and many unspoken thoughts that she kept to herself, leaving others to guess what she wanted to say.

“Get some sleep,” Daud said, running a hand over his face. “We’re gonna need it.”

“Yes,” sighed Elizabeth, “for tomorrow we die.”

“Elizabeth, my darling, I do think we have a few days before that.” Daud scratched at his stubble almost absentmindedly. “So, I think I’m going to get drunk in the meantime.”

“Dear, you do not drink,” Elizabeth said gently.

“The world’s ending, El. Let me live,” he replied, not missing a beat. He stepped away from their table, disappearing down the dark corridor, the slamming of a door signifying the start of his self-induced exile.

The exhausted noblewoman turned to the other two women. “Ignore him. He…He has struggled with his…fate, ever since…” Emily had not known Elizabeth long but she could already tell that such wordlessness was unusual. Billie seemed to concur, shuffling impatiently.

Elizabeth swore under her breath, hiding her face in her hands. “I do not know if you can understand just how…Just how much the death of Jessamine affected him. He took his first chance at…redemption, even if it meant dealing with…Delilah. Neither of us could imagine…neither of us could even _begin_ to imagine what she would do to him. He is still plagued by nightmares. I…I still suffer from the occasional…painful memory. The plague…” Her hand flew up to the scars on her neck and shoulder. “Delilah’s horrible creatures…”

Her breath caught in her throat, her entire form shaking. “I’m sorry,” she continued, trying to collect herself. “We do want to help, Emily. Do not mistake me, but if Daud is drinking _already_ I do not know how he will be once this ends— _if_ this ends in anything but fire and ice.”

Emily did not know what to say, her fingertips tapping at the surface of the table.

“Elizabeth,” Billie said in a small voice. The noblewoman’s head snapped up at the sound of her name. “I know we’ve never… _particularly_ gotten along.”

 She snorted.

“But I want you to know that you’re not alone in this.”

“I wasn’t alone last time, either,” she said, too emotionally drained to sound venomous, “but then someone made a deal with Delilah and lead Overseers to the base, and people _died_.”

Billie did not even flinch. She stood there, cold and as still as a slab of obsidian, her cool eyes calculating and piercing straight through Elizabeth’s animosity. “As I said: you’re not alone in this,” she repeated. “I think we’re fucked up because of Delilah but Emily ensured that she’d never see the light of day again—”

“That’s what I thought when I put her away,” she hissed. Her sharp eyes moved on to Emily. “You should have killed her.”

Emily’s tapping fingers stilled and curled into fists. “She did not deserve that. No one deserves to die.”

“She did.”

“She was angry that everything she had ever loved had been taken away from her. Her kingdom, her mother, her father—do you not see that she could have been me?” Emily declared. “There is blood on my hands, Elizabeth, as much as anyone else here but I could have walked the same path she did without any effort. She could have painted me in red made of the blood that I’ve spilled. I had no right to exact what I thought was justice, not when doing so would have _ensured_ I would become just like her.” She pushed herself to her feet, toying with a button on her coat. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight,” they echoed, Elizabeth still struggling to regain her composure even as the night lightened as the sun rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***throws plot at you* *disappears back into the shadows*** ~~Also I need to start naming my chapters, remembering what happened when in twenty six chapters and counting is getting to be hectic oops?~~


	20. Mercy is the Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily and Daud have a long awaited discussion on the nature of forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She was alone; forced to face her demons by herself with no one by her side. She would survive, yes, but she would do little else. She had so little left of herself to give, how dare the world take it all away? Could it not see she was doing the best she could, in a world that was not kind to empresses?_

 “You’re awake,” Daud observed as Emily stepped up onto the deck, her hair mussed from sleep.

She rubbed at her eyes, biting back a yawn. “I’ve noticed.”

“It’s early.”

“That too, I have noticed.” She leaned over the railing, handing Daud a warm cup of coffee. “I didn’t remember how you took it, so it’s black and bitter.”

“Well, we share the last trait,” he muttered, taking the cup from her, as grateful as the cold-hearted assassin could be. For a brief moment, Emily could have sworn that he smiled. It didn’t suit him. She was far too used to seeing his scarred visage set in a grim frown.The silence between them wasn’t as heavy as it could have been, the crashing of the waves sufficiently drowning the quiet, though Emily feared every time the water hit the side of the boat with great force that they would drown her too. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurted out.

She blinked, glancing over at Daud, and then back at the water. “Good for you.”

“Emily—”

“I’m sick of these conversations, Daud,” she said sharply. “You make an attempt at an apology, and I don’t have the emotional capacity to forgive you. Can we not just blame Burrows, and move on from this?”

He gritted his teeth, nodding once, and took a sip from his coffee. “I only think it’s funny—”

“ _Daud_.” He grumbled something she couldn’t hear, and she spun around to face him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You made a most _grievous_ error. I think we can both agree on that,” she said. “The Outsider…He brought up the point that not everybody would have been as… _efficient_ as you. You could have drawn it out, tortured her. You didn’t, and that was the only mercy you showed, but that’s more mercy than anyone else would have given her. I shudder to think what watching my mother contract the plague would have been like. She would have died anyway, but I’m glad it was you and not someone else. You never would have saved me from Delilah, if you hadn’t done what you did.”

She looked off into the distance, surprised to discover that—unlike most times when she discussed her mother’s death—her heart was not pounding in her ears. It was as calm as the sea currently was; still and unmoving. Was that wrong of her? Was she not supposed to forgive him for what he’d done? She had heard her mother’s heart speak of him in the middle of the night, in a voice that sounded so far away, and had left her with nothing but nagging doubts.

_Daud. There is no turning back from the path he has chosen._

_I cannot forgive him for what he did._

_Death is scared of him. So am I._

_No. His hands do violence. They are stained with blood… Will your hands be stained too?_

_Oh, Emily, my dear Emily…He took you away from me, and he wanders this world still. A cruel twist of fate. He should suffer for what he did…No…No, I’m sorry. Forgive me. The darkness that taints his heart has creeped into mine. Sleep, my love, and forget the days long passed._

Emily did not know if she believed the Heart’s words. Her mother, her heart uncorrupted by gears and clockwork, would have said that even the darkest of souls could be redeemed. There was a light that burned within all souls. Some, however, were hidden away and required searching to find it.

But Daud…

Daud hadn’t hidden that light away.

Or at least, he was trying not to. He had laid down his sword for her; he had put his life in her hands. It was her own fault that she had not taken it, but that meant that it was now her responsibility to ensure she did not regret her actions. Her mother’s heart was as emotionally cold as it was physically. It only saw the darkness in the world, the corruption, the sickness. It saw past the veil of hope and gave only the grim truth.

But she was Empress Emily Kaldwin, the Outsider’s Marked.

She had the powers to change the world, to make it bend to her whims, to make the oceans part, and to make traitorous witches weep. She carried the favour of a god, and walked with the Void singing in her bones. The grim truth was nothing but a possibility that she had the capacity to alter. She had to do right by what her mother—and not the Heart—would have wanted, and if that meant seeing the good in Daud… Surely then, it was the least she could do, no?

 _The world is better for your influence_ , her mother’s spirit had said. _Oh, Emily, I love you, and this is the final thought I carry into nothingness._

Emily had to bite her tongue to keep her emotions from manifesting fully. Empresses did not cry, and if they did, they certainly did not let other people see them. Not even after what happened to Alexi—oh dear, beloved, Alexi—did Emily shed a single tear. She had watched her closest friend—and lover, at one point—die in her arms and she’d remained as stony as her mother’s statue in the Chamber of Commerce.

Crying, she thought, was for little girls, and for the weak. She had wept so much and so often after her mother’s passing that she could have flooded the Golden Cat with her tears. Ever since then, she’d felt nothing but an ache in the centre of her chest that left her quiet, dazed, and unable to focus on the world around her. Suffering in silence for sixteen long years had left her numb. Dealing with the aftermath of her mother’s death— _alone_ —as a child had left her broken. Her childhood being ripped from her had only left her to cope in isolation. Having her throne stolen by a woman that looked like her mother but was nothing like her had left her distrustful. Wyman who had stolen her heart and who had given it back in pieces had left her exhausted, and drained, and tired, and dazed, and alone, and, and, and…

 _And empty_.

The life that had once been so abundant in Emily Kaldwin had disappeared.

But Daud had found the very thing she had lost.

He was a creature she did not fully understand, nor did she ever expect to, but she caught glimpses of his rare relapses where he wasn’t the Knife of Dunwall but merely Daud: a man who had seen too much, and had never had enough. A man who had been stolen from his homeland, and who had been given a blade instead. A man who had survived the only way he could in a world that had left him alone without a shred of his childhood innocence.

A man who had found solace in a woman who too had lost everything, and had been given a sword to make up for her father who’d been executed at Hiram Burrows’ command.

There was a light in him, still. The Heart may not have seen it, but Jessamine Kaldwin surely would have.

Like Corvo’s love for her had kept him from falling to temptation, Daud’s affections for Elizabeth had raised him up and had saved him from the fate he could have befallen.

If it was not a trait an empress could not afford to possess, she would daresay that she was envious. She was alone; forced to face her demons by herself with no one by her side. She would survive, yes, but she would do little else. She had so little left of herself to give, how dare the world take it all away?

_Could it not see she was doing the best she could, in a world that was not kind to empresses?_

She found her mouth suddenly dry as though the salt from the tears she’d been unable to shed had dried it up. Emily Kaldwin was drowning from the inside on the things she could not say, suffocated by the things she’d seen, and choking on her solitude. “What did Elizabeth mean?” she asked, the quaver in her voice unmistakable. “Back at the Chamber of Commerce?”

If Daud noticed—which he probably had, knowing his abilities—he did not comment. Perhaps it was a kindness he felt as though he owed her. Sometimes, it was kinder to pretend not to see the weakness one so desperately tried to hide than it was to comfort them. This was certainly one of those moments.

“You know you weren’t supposed to be listening in.” His words came out gentler than their meaning. Was this his way of consoling her? She was not quite certain. Particularly because Daud, as far as she was aware, had no reason to know why her thoughts were racing through her head faster than the Tyvian winds that had started to pick up.

She gave a half-hearted—and a rather childish, as Callista would have said—shrug that did little to excuse her eavesdropping.

“It burns in the water, the ice does nothing but spread the flames and Dunwall will fall,” Daud said after a moment with such certainty that Emily knew he had spent many hours pondering the meaning of Elizabeth’s words. “The blades cross; the old, the blunted, the new, and the twice sharpened.” He scoffed, adding, “It’s nonsense.”

“It doesn’t sound like nonsense,” she hummed.

“It is.” She rarely trusted the Knife of Dunwall’s words wholeheartedly, taking them with a grain of salt, but he was so insistent in his assurances that she couldn’t help but suspect he was being disingenuous.

“And for a famous assassin, you are a bad liar.” She cracked a small, almost bitter smirk as he pressed his lips into a thin line. “You said she got visions,” she continued, looking back out at the ocean. “Was that one of them?”

“She does,” he confirmed. “Not all of them come true.”

“Not all of the Outsider’s visions come true.” She could tell that he supposed that was true, the Serkonan assassin’s jaw visibly clenching. “Are you saying his visions are not valid?”

He let out a heavy sigh, taking a swig from his mug while grumbling, “You always talk this much?”

“If you mean when I was a child, then yes,” she said. “Though the last time we met, I was too busy screaming for help to actually talk to you.” Pain flashed across his features, her words hitting a little too close to home. “It’s early.” Her excuse was, in rather vulgar terms, utter shit but there was no way—not even if someone paid her—that she’d openly admit to her errors in front of Daud.

He had the decency not to press her for an apology. “Yes, it is.” His agreement held an element of finality, as though he wanted Emily to drop the subject about Elizabeth’s vision but before the young Empress could get a word out, he shot her a look out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know,” he said. Her shoulders sagged in her disappointment, and that was when he snorted. “ _Much_.”

Bastard.

“I think,” he said, still sipping his coffee, “that we can confirm one thing, and that’s it.”

“Oh?”

 “I’m the blunted blade,” he said, looking rather displeased with his new title. “Which would make you the new one.”

She wasn’t quite certain if that was the answer she’d been looking for. Did that mean she was supposed to replace him? She’d sworn to her mother that she would honour her legacy, and surely becoming an assassin would do the opposite? “That still leaves the twice sharpened,” she murmured, trying to push the thought out of her head.

He raised his brows as though to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation. “Unless you have any ideas, Empress, we’re—”

“No,” she said, answering his question before she could hear the end of his sentence. She shook her head, strands of her raven-black hair settling around her shoulders. “No, I don’t have any.”

His shoulders sagged ever-so-slightly. “Damn,” he said, glancing around. “Looks like we’re stuck in the same boat we were to begin with.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Seems so,” she agreed. She bit her lower lip, debating with herself whether or not she ought to address her doubts with him. “Daud?

The assassin grunted.

She glanced down at the cup of coffee in her hands, nothing but the dregs remaining. “Do you think…” she ducked her head, “we’ll, I don’t know, succeed? Survive?”

His steely eyes met hers for a long moment. Then, the assassin let out a resigned sigh, looking more exhausted than she had yet to see him. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Be a good a time for the Outsider to get a vision,” she muttered.

He cracked a smile. “You two seem to be close.”

His remark caught her off guard, and she recoiled in her shock. “There are few others who…understand the full situation,” she said, scrambling to excuse her reaction. She wasn’t quite certain why her response had been on the verge of violent but there was a searing heat creeping up the back of her neck that had not been there five minutes earlier. “Unfortunately,” she continued, “he seems to be the only one who has seen, and understands, the entirety of my rather lengthy journey up until this moment. I cannot help but be thankful for his presence.”

She could have _sworn_ Daud’s eyes narrowed as he tugged at the cord hanging round her neck, revealing the whalebone charm. “Be careful,” he said, running his thumb over the swirling runes that marked the curves bone. They had the same strange, almost uneasy nature as the Mark both Daud and Emily bore on the back of their hands—entirely foreign but familiar like a long forgotten dream. “His gifts often come with ulterior motives.” His eyes met hers, holding her gaze as he spoke. There was a certain graveness in them that only said that he’d discovered this truth the difficult way. “You are not playing with fire. Fire would be safer. It is your life that is at stake here, Empress.  Get too close to him…” He let the charm slip from his fingers. “You’ll drown.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, and she meant it. Normally, she’d make an effort to forget such an ominous and vague warning but Daud spoke from experience—experience she did not have, and a flicker of fear darted across his features.

And if Daud was scared…

She tucked her pendant away, too used to having the weight of it pressing against her chest, pinned there by the fabric of her shirt that she almost felt empty without it. It had quickly become a personal memento that none were meant to see, though

 Emily tugs the pendant out of his hand. She hadn’t noticed until the previous night that symbols similar to those found on runes had been burned into the bone, patterns swirling around the curves of the bones. She tucked it under her shirt, away from prying eyes.

She still had Brailde’s soot-covered knife, hidden underneath her mattress. She wasn’t certain what she was supposed to do with it, nor the whalebone necklace for that matter. Both seemed to have been spelled by the Pandyssian witch but her instructions had been far from clear. She had spent all night lying wide awake, mulling over the witch’s words. Bonecharms, and runes for that matter, she knew offered protection and benefits of various sorts. It seemed to her that her necklace was another form of the traditional bonecharm or rune but the knife…

Was Zhukov’s knife the blade twice sharpened? She had a nagging suspicion that said it couldn’t possibly be that easy but it made sense, in its own strange way. If the Outsider was dying, surely the thing that had created him could kill him? Every time she thought she had a questioned answered, another one only arose.

She let down her pinned hair as she sighed, letting it be rustled by the wind like a wave of black ink. Questions upon questions upon questions. Much like the ocean before her, there seemed to be no end in sight for the strange group that had been drawn together by the Outsider. The horizon was endless and seemed impossibly far away.

“We’ll be fine,” whispered Emily, gripping the rail of the boat with one hand. She did not know if she was trying to keep herself steady, or if she was trying to ground herself. Her knuckles turned white with the pressure exerted upon the thin metal bar but her closed eyes did not see them. They only saw the Void-like darkness behind her lids, and eyes as black as midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is actually one of my favourite chapters so far and has been such a long time coming. I'm so excited to post this that I literally have to be out the door in about a minute, and I'm writing an author's note. Looks like I'm going to be late but oh well. Anyhow, if you enjoyed, leave a comment or if you haven't yet, leave a kudos! (God, I sound like a Youtuber.) I'll see you all in the next chapter <3


	21. My Name on Their Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You have faced strangers wearing the faces of old friends, demons whose hearts were as black as coal, masked men wielding knives, witches with poisonous thorns, and machines who have nothing but a desire to kill. You have battled monsters of all sorts. Why is it, then, you fear disappointment?"_

The blade dug into Emily’s palm as she held Brailde’s gift in her hand, running a finger over the soot that refused to wipe from the surface of the dagger. It thrummed with an energy she could not describe as anything but the low singing of whales, when their songs resonated in your very soul, shaking you to your core. She hadn’t heard whale songs on many occasions before, having not been allowed on whaling trips as the sole heir to the Isles, but she had heard their cries as they’d been dragged to the shore. It had left her on the verge of tears; the poor creature’s mournful wails was the only thing that could be heard for miles. She had decided then and there that she would never visit the whale oil refineries. Her mother had visited every so often, or sent a representative in her place—a representative, she’d recently discovered, who’d actually been none other than Elizabeth—but Emily…Emily avoided the whale oil refineries like the plague.

Well… Perhaps that wasn’t the _best_ turn of phrase given Dunwall’s history but the idea was there.

She knew how integral whale oil was to the Isles, knew how almost _everything_ ran on whale oil—from security systems, to simply powering the stoves, there were few things that did not require it. She had been there for Esmond Roseburrow’s suicide, and how it had been the main source of gossip for _weeks_. It hadn’t made sense to her then, how someone could be so torn up by guilt that death would be a mercy.

But then again, it hadn’t made sense to her then, how people would sacrifice others for their own personal gain.

 She had walked with the devils, now. Seen the seeds of corruption that had been planted inside the hearts of all men—seen how easy it was to nurture the seed, and let it flower until it festered. Innocence was nothing but a faraway dream at this point. She missed the days where her greatest concern was what was being served for dinner. Now, she was fanatically turning a dagger over in her hand, hoping that there was an answer hidden somewhere in the metal.

She did not know how long she spent staring at the blade, only that hours had passed, and the sky through the porthole had gone black. Not with night, however, but with an inky darkness that no light could shine through. Entering the Void was like taking a breath of air after being suffocated. It was a painful relief that she both longed for and dreaded.

“Witches are a tricky business,” said the Outsider, standing out of her field of view. “Their gifts are just as much curses as they are a blessing.”

“Perhaps they are as fickle as the being from who they draw their power from,” she replied without missing a beat, still toying with the blade. She heard him chuckle breathily, pacing the length of her quarters. His footsteps made no noise, nothing but a whisper that followed him signifying his presence. She looked up, at last, from Brailde’s gift to see him standing before her, hands clasped behind his back.

His dark eyes held something unfamiliar, something _hungry_ , and his wicked smirk boded nothing but trouble. “You are a strange woman, Emily Kaldwin.” Her name sounded strange falling from his lips. He had said it but once in the past few months, and she had become far too used to her title by now—far too used to the forced formality between them. The distance between them had suddenly disappeared, if only for a brief moment, and left her dazed and confused.

She set the dagger down beside her. “I have to keep up the mystery, after all.”

“I do not think that the mystery which surrounds you is a conscious effort,” he said, glancing down at her necklace. “It follows you like a sinner chases salvation while you, Saint Emily, chase sin.” She frowned at the new title, not knowing if it was the result of one of his visions, or if he was merely something he’d taken to calling her. He seemed to hear her confusion, or at least see it on her waifish features. “No, your titles shall not include saint, perhaps…Perhaps they should.”

“I have hardly done anything that deserves sainthood.” No, she would be remembered for things besides her virtues, she would ensure that. Emily Kaldwin was no saint, and she had no inclination of ever being one. She would be remembered for her conviction, for her determination, for every one of her redeeming qualities but she would be _damned_ before people praised her. They would never know of her shortcomings but that did not mean that they did not exist. Did that mean all saints were infallible? Perhaps, but somehow Emily knew that those who followed her beliefs would not see her many errors.

And that, in her eyes, was something she could not have.

“No one ever deserves sainthood,” he murmured.

She laughed, bitterly, and raised a brow. “Regardless, is there a reason for your visit? I assume that this is not a social call.”

“Why?”

“You look…” She tilted her head, scanning his features. The crease between his brows was deeper than usual, and if it were possible for Void gods to get tired, she would have said that there were bags under his eyes. His movements seemed slower than usual, too stiff to be languid but too much hesitation to be casual. “Drained,” she said finally.

“I have been…preoccupied,” he confessed, disappearing and reappearing on her bed. She watched him from her seat at her desk with a sense of wry amusement as though watching a child struggle to do something easy. “Thinking.”

“Dangerous business,” she said, turning her chair fully to face him. “About?”

“You said that you feared that your mother would be disappointed in the woman you have become,” he answered, far too calmly, and entirely ignorant to Emily’s wince. He frowned. “It is a strange fear. You have faced strangers wearing the faces of old friends, demons whose hearts were as black as coal, masked men wielding knives, witches with poisonous thorns, and machines who have nothing but a desire to kill…You have battled monsters of all sorts…Why is it, then, you fear disappointment?”

Her sharp intake of breath must have given her shock away, the question leaving her speechless.

The Outsider glanced down at the rings on his hands. “You do not have to answer.”

“Yet, somehow, I feel as though I owe you as much,” she said. She let out a heavy sigh, breathing out her insecurities, her fears, and preparing herself to speak the truth to the only being who would not judge her for it. “I asked myself once if I was the ruler my mother had wanted me to become.”

His head shot up, attention caught.

“I think that I am not,” she said, and for the first time, this confession did not feel like getting stabbed in the heart. “There was no way she could have anticipated the situation in which I find myself. The ruler she wanted me to be lived in a time where there was no such thing as the rat plague, or psychotic witches, or whale gods who come bearing gifts.” She could have sworn she heard the Outsider chuckle. “It would be impossible for me to be the ruler she wanted me to be simply because circumstance dictated otherwise, but I think that the ruler I am—when I am not running off to save my kingdom at least—she would have been proud to call her daughter.” Her gaze lowered, a bittersweet smile upon her lips. “That I did the best I could in a world that is not kind to empresses.” The Outsider made a strange noise, as though choking, and her gaze immediately focused upon him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he was quick to say. “There was something familiar in your words. A phrase that I would have used to describe you had your father walked a different path. I did not ever foresee it applying to you now.”

“What was it?” She hadn’t ever asked him about his visions of the future before, hadn’t ever asked him about her father before. All she knew about their relationship with each other, she had learned contextually. From Corvo’s derisive snorts, and the Outsider’s wistful remarks, she had gathered scraps of their tale but had never received anything concrete.

“Had your father been less…generous,” he said after a pause, “with the staying of his blade, that the daughter of a murdered empress would have ascended the throne up a mountain of corpses, accompanied by an assassin named Corvo. That they would say that you came to power in an age of terror and corruption, and did the best you could in a world that is not kind to little girls or empresses.”

She regretted asking her question the instant he finished speaking. She shuddered at the possibility of that being her future. “Did you ever think it would come true?”

“It was a possibility,” he said. “I am glad it did not but that does not mean you are safe from the same corruption which befell Hiram Burrows.” His dark eyes met hers. “You are infinitely more fascinating when you walk your own path, and not another’s.”

“I am glad your fascination is the sole cause for not wanting me to be a murderer.”

“There are other personal reasons, your Majesty, but I often choose not to disclose them.”

“Then ensure that this is not one of those moments,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me.”

Under her scrutiny, the Outsider shifted as though she—nothing more than a mere mortal—had somehow managed to get under his skin. “My reasons are my own,” he said.

She scoffed, crossing one leg over the other. “As are mine, but it is because of my trust in you that I have disclosed them. It would be unfortunate to hear that this trust is not reciprocated.”

“It is.” His self-control, while usually plentiful, seemed to escape him in that moment as though it had run dry after all these years. Panicked features contorted, and the eloquent god was reduced to sputtering. Then… Then, he ran a hand over his face, tutting at her laughter that she could not keep back. “You jest.”

“I would never dare to ask you to do something you did not wish to do,” she said with a giggle.

“My dearest Emily Kaldwin, there is little I would not do for you,” he said, meeting her eyes.

His words sent shivers down her spine, and this time it was Emily found herself sputtering as the Outsider pushed himself to his feet. He closed the distance between them, ears pricked as though they were listening for a sign of her displeasure. When none came, he lifted her left hand—Emily subconsciously raising with it—and ran his thumb over her leather glove. He hesitated as he tugged at the fingers of the glove—still waiting for a sign to stop—before removing the glove entirely.

Her Mark glowed in his presence, illuminating a brilliant blue-white like the light of a lamp fuelled by whale oil, and humming with a distant, far away song in words she did not understand. He sighed as he traced the outlines of his Mark, his attention focused on the lines marring the back of her hand…and her attention focusing on him.

Damn Daud to the Void and back for his cruel mockery.

His words had landed a little too close to home, and she hated— _hated_ —to admit that he had a point. The Empress of the Isles was close with the Outsider, and it was clear to see. With every touch of his skin to hers, she felt as though electricity shot through her. She was thrumming with uncontained energy. She felt as though she had just downed several of Sokolov’s energizing elixirs. Her skin _burned_. A gasp escaped her as he—once again—pressed his lips to her Mark, whispering seven words that she could not hear.

Her confusion must have been evident for when his eyes at last moved away from her glowing Mark to, his ever present smirk widened. “Your Majesty?” he said, daring her to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue.

“You had me worried,” she said, feeling as though she had swallowed sand, “that an unforeseen development had come to your attention. Would it be…reasonable to say that this visit is more…social in nature?”

“What gave me away?” His Void-black eyes shone with the light of stars that could not be found within his domain. She couldn’t meet them for very long, glancing away almost immediately.

“You are certainly enigmatic but I would like to think that over the years, I have come to…understand you, in a way,” she said. “You visited my dreams as a child.”

“I remember.”

Her brows furrowed as she looked back to him. “Why?” she asked. “You said you never expected us to meet.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” she sighed. “It’s exhausting.”

Put out by her remark, he frowned, lips pulled into a thin line. Had she truly insulted him? She hoped not. Besides, was it really her place to tell a god what he could and could not do? He had the power to destroy the world, and she was nothing—not compared to him. “We were never supposed to meet, no. You dreamt of me only because you hid a rune under your pillow to gift to your father later. The nightmares that followed were not of my doing.” He chuckled. “Ever since you were a child, you were strangely fascinated with the Void.”

“It wasn’t the Void that fascinated me,” she said quietly.

She could have sworn she heard his breath hitch in his throat, the Outsider attempting—and failing—to disguise it by clearing his throat. “Could you not have been interested in ordinary things as a child?” he asked.

“Ah, but then that would make me ordinary,” she said, tutting. “Anyway, that was hardly my strangest interest. Don’t you remember?” She forced herself to take a step back, sitting back down in her chair even as the Outsider towered over her. “Pirates, and swords, and adventures that were _far_ too inappropriate for the future empress to even dream of.”

He smiled, holding back a laugh. “And look at you now,” he said. “Blessed with the powers of the Void, and on adventure with swords, and scoundrels with a taste for theft who really could be called pirates. Looks like your childhood dreams have come true.”

“Shame the same has not happened to my current dreams,” she sighed.

“What might those be exactly?”

She glanced at her diary, the dust still not entirely wiped from the cover. “Secrets,” she said. “Same as those kept there—secrets that you cannot have.”

“Do you not trust me?” A wicked smile was upon his lips. “I will not ask anything from you, Emily, that you would not give.”

She looked back up to him tentatively, trying her hardest to conceal the many thoughts running through her mind. “And if there was nothing I would not give to you?”

“I would never ask you to give it,” he said. His brows furrowed, gaze suddenly distant and far-off. She heard his last words as the world around her began to regain its colours: “Tread carefully, my dear Emily, you walk among wolves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some fluff. Honestly, these two are too cute. Way too cute.


	22. Whispers in Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"It was the first time," she continued, "that I ever saw your father take a life for his own pleasure. I suppose it was fair. Everything up until then would have amounted to what? Burrows spending the rest of his days in Coldridge, and being executed by your command? No, I think he was trying to spare you from that ordeal."_

“Well, well, someone is looking awfully cheerful,” Elizabeth said sarcastically, her feet kicked up on to the table before her.

She held a book in one hand, and a cup of whiskey in the other, somehow still managing to look graceful even with her hands full. She held the same effortlessness that Emily’s mother had. Every action was smooth, carefully calculated, and precise. Had her hair not been as dull, and so unevenly chopped, and had her skin not been marred by many years of living on the streets, she would have looked every inch an empress. In comparison, Emily looked insignificant. She may have been the one with the clear, fair skin, and the neatly-trimmed hair, and the clothes that possibly cost more than the Wale itself did, but _she_ was the one who was doubting herself at every turn.

Emily’s tight lipped scowl turned into a grimace.

Despite her eyes being on the pages of her book, Elizabeth seemed to notice Emily’s discontent. “You disappeared for a while there,” she observed. “You have a—”

The Empress threw Brailde’s blade down on the table. “Not the matter I wished to discuss.”

“And I presume _that_ is?” said the noblewoman. She glanced at the blade, brows raised. “What is it?”

“I am not entirely certain,” she confessed. “I know what it’s meant to do.”

“Then do explain.” Elizabeth almost seemed amused by the entire situation. Even as she shut her book, the woman was grinning from ear to ear. She leaned forward, bracing her head in one hand.

“You know how…you found me in that alley?” said the Empress, taking a seat across from Elizabeth. “A witch lives there.”

“Ah, yes, you had said you met Brailde,” Elizabeth said. “Lovely, if not strange woman.”

She cracked a small smile. She wasn’t wrong. The woman was just as kind as she was peculiar. Then, carefully, slowly, Emily began to recount the tale of Zhukov. She began from her earliest recollection of that time period: the seventh of the Month of Rain, 1851.

She told the noblewoman how she had escaped Dunwall Tower, several days after her twenty fourth birthday. How she had disappeared into the rain, and travelled the entirety of the Estate District—going past the Bushfords’ old manor, she realised now—and so _proud_ of herself for not getting spotted. She hadn’t known then how important those little escapades would be in the days following Delilah’s coup. Her nights spent sneaking out, away from Corvo’s watchful, prying gaze, had prepared her for darting about in the dark, avoiding soldiers and witches who wanted nothing more than her head on a pike.

She recounted how she had crept across the rooftops, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice what was going on below. That was, until she did. It had been the middle of the night, and the weather was far from pleasant so she had not expected to see five masked figures gathered in a square between multiple buildings, huddled together.

Until she had realised that they were standing in the middle of a cemetery.

 Elizabeth sat silently, enraptured in the story as Emily continued. Their grave robbing had nauseated her— _still_ nauseated her. In her mind, the dead, no matter who they were, should be left to rest peacefully. She’d snuck closer, trying to come up with a plan that would neutralize the threat while sufficiently keeping her out of harm’s way.

That was, until she’d been spotted by Corvo and had been so startled that she’d booked it back to Dunwall Tower.

“You did not recognise him?” Elizabeth asked.

“I was preoccupied,” she muttered. “And he had a mask on.”

“Ah, yes,” she said wistfully. “He wore that mask to the Boyles’ masquerade the day he sent Waverly off, you know. He thought he was terribly clever, hiding in plain sight. I begged to differ.”

“You were there?”

“There were few places I was not,” she said. “The night your father…disposed of Burrows, I was up on the rooftop, watching the chaos unfold. I…gave him an out. Gave him a chance to deal with Burrows peacefully. Gave him a chance to expose him to the public for inciting the plague. Corvo…Corvo chose a different route.”

Emily felt sick to her stomach.

“It was the first time.” she continued, “that I ever saw your father take a life for his own pleasure. I suppose it was fair. Everything up until then would have amounted to what? Burrows spending the rest of his days in Coldridge, and being executed by your command? No, I think he was trying to spare you from that ordeal. Facing the man who killed your mother is one thing, but facing the man who killed your people and then ordered the death of Jessamine…” She trailed off, distant, and glassy-eyed. “He spared the Pendletons, though I daresay their fate was much worse than death. Campbell was shunned from the Abbey by your father’s actions—branding him with the Heretic’s Brand was quite clever, I admit—though I suspect he caught plague. You know the fate of Captain Curnow, I am certain, given that he is currently one of your members of staff.”

“I didn’t realise my father was meant to kill him.”

“Kill him? No, no, no, Campbell had tried to poison him. Corvo saved his life,” she said, tapping a finger on her chin. “Who else? Ah, Slackjaw was spared from Granny Rag’s knife, though Slackjaw later killed her in retaliation… Not your father’s fault. He could not have known. Havelock committed suicide, guilt ridden, after killing Lord Pendleton and High Overseer Martin…”

“And you convinced him to spare Waverly,” Emily finished, recalling that the noblewoman had said that she and Waverly had been close before she’d begun her affair with Burrows.

“She really was— _is_ —a nice woman,” she sighed mournfully. “I really do think she cared for Burrows, and he for her, but he was…corruptive. She changed.”

“How so?”

A muscle twitched in Elizabeth’s jaw. “She was the one who had me arrested,” she said, voice cracking. “I…visited Granny Rags with Daud a few days before Waverly came for a visit. She gave me a rune, and I never thought twice about it, shoving it on to a bookshelf to deal with later, forgetting that Burrows was _dying_ for a reason to have me executed…”

“And when Waverly saw it, she felt obligated to tell him.” Emily was horrified by the idea. If the two had been as close as Elizabeth seemed to be saying, how could Lady Boyle have ever done such a thing? The royal court was full of vipers, she was quite aware, but she had never imagined that it was as dangerous for the common noble as it was for the Empress.

“I do not blame her,” Elizabeth said, though the bitterness lacing her tone said otherwise. “However, yes, I managed to convince your father to spare her. Lydia and Esma had done nothing, and they did not deserve to suffer through the death of their sister though I daresay Waverly’s disappearance affected Lydia regardless…”

She flinched. “Speaking of Lydia Boyle… She was killed by one of Daud’s old whalers.”

“Who?”

“Galia, I believe?”

The noblewoman scowled. “She was such an over eager _bitch_.” When Emily laughed at her profanity, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Forgive me. I harbour no affections for her. She… She used to follow Daud around like a lap dog. I did not realise she remained in the profession.”

“She didn’t.”

“Then why…?”

Struggling to recall the finer details of the woman called Galia Fleet, and the circumstances surrounding her, Emily began to tell Elizabeth how Galia had partnered with man called Zhukov who had tried, and failed to purge Tyvia of corruption only to get accused of treason by Burrows. Somehow, Zhukov had found the very knife that had cut the Outsider’s throat, making him a god, and had carved the Outsider’s Mark into the back of his hand, granting him dangerous powers. She continued to tell her tale as the hours passed, Elizabeth only interrupting to ask questions, or provide Emily with information pertaining subjects she did not understand—such as Daud’s ability to share his gifts with other people.

“It’s a…proximity thing,” Elizabeth struggled to explain. “The longer you spend with him, the more likely it is you will pick up on at least one of his gifts. Some pick up none at all, some pick up multiple. The speed at which you gain them very, it’s…I think Delilah could do the same with her witches but they attained theirs through practice, though I think the degree of their gifts varied as well. I…I had some of Daud’s gifts for a while before the Outsider gave me his Mark. To be honest, I do not quite understand why he would do such a thing. Spite, perhaps?”

“The Outsider isn’t one for spite.”

“Goodness, Daud was right.”

“Right about what?”

“You two _are_ quite close.”

She scowled, and continued on with her story, if only to avoid the subject. It took her the entire rest of the day to finish her tale, Elizabeth sitting with furrowed brows as Emily told her of her final confrontation with Zhukov and Galia.

“He built a mirror.”

“Yes.”

“ _A_ _mirror_.”

“A strange plan, I agree,” she said, glancing out the window at the darkened sky. “I was tempted, if I’m honest. If he could truly pull the reality within the mirror into this one…”

“He promised to bring your mother back, how could you not have been tempted?” Elizabeth said, leaning back in her chair. “Outsider’s eyes, the power that must have taken. To construct an entire alternate reality, and to manifest that…”

“Delilah was capable of a similar thing with her paintings,” she said.

“Regardless…” she said, trailing off. She cleared her throat. “What does this have to do with the knife—by the Void, that is not _the_ knife, is it?”

“No,” Emily said. “Thought I suspect that would solve several of our problems. Brailde…Brailde bound this knife to that one. I…do not know what that means.”

“I thought you said the knife was destroyed.”

“Lost, not destroyed.”

“And _the_ knife has the power to kill the Outsider?”

“Might be the thing that’s doing it now.”

“And you did not think to tell me?” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin! This pertains all of us, and you kept it hidden?” Her tone became suddenly maternal, and a pang shot through Emily. The noblewoman sighed. “Why?”

Uncomfortable, she shifted in her chair. “Truth be told, I had forgotten about it.”

“Let me guess: you spoke to the Outsider, and it came up in conversation?”

“No, our conversation was a tad more…personal.” She rolled her eyes as the noblewoman’s face lit up. “This is not a discussion I shall have with you.”

“Oh, you are simply _no_ fun,” she grumbled, taking a seat again. “Right. So we have a blade that is spiritually connected with one of the only things in the world that can kill a god. Or at least, that is what we believe it does. So…plan of action. We destroy that knife, and the other one with be destroyed as well.”

“That was what I was thinking,” she admitted, pushing the blade towards Elizabeth. “However…” She gestured for the noblewoman to pick it up, and the instant she did, the woman let out a surprised shriek, nearly throwing the thing back at her while letting out a string of curses. “Good to know I’m not insane.”

“What the _fuck_ was that?” she hissed. “It was _humming_ like…like it was…”

“Alive?” she finished. “I think there’s a reason the Outsider’s been alive as long as he has. If you can bind one knife to another, who’s to say you couldn’t do the same with a person if you—”

“Killed them with a knife blessed by the Void.” The horror Elizabeth was experiencing was clear. Her eyes were wide, and the colour had all but drained from her already pale complexion. “We have to find the original knife. Bury it. Never let it see the light of day ever again.”

“Might be harder than we think,” she muttered. She had no doubts that every simple task that they’d ever been charged with had _always_ ended up in a disaster. They could not seem to catch a break lately, and she was certain that this would be no different. If not only because this quest seemed harder than all the others she had gone on.

“Perhaps,” she sighed, pouring the last quarter of the bottle of Old Dunwall into her glass, and downing the entire thing in one go. “This I _hardly_ think is something you cannot do. After all, if there is one soul in this world that will never cease to surprise me, it would be you, Emily Kaldwin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition-heavy chapter but the next one's a bit cheeky, so looks like you're going to get two oops.


	23. My Recollection of the Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Why did she feel like she was playing nanny to children who’d been taught to be killers?_

The next several days passed in a peaceful quietude.

Well, it did for Emily, at least.

She had seen little of both Elizabeth and Daud during this time as the two had taken to self-exile in the quarters formerly belonging to Alexandria Hypatia. Both she and Billie could hear their furious arguments long into the night, even over the loud thrumming of the engine as they moored for the night. Their fights would only stop for a handful of hours at a time, in which Elizabeth would storm out, brimming with fury, only to retrieve food before disappearing once more.

It was the sixth or seventh time on the fourth day that Emily found her patience running thin. “Outsider’s blood!” she exclaimed as Elizabeth once again marched out of their room, bristling with irritation. She snapped her book shut, all but slamming it down on the table. “The _fuck_ do you think you are doing?”

Elizabeth did not appear to have heard the first part of Emily’s proclamations, but as the curse slipped from the young Empress’ lips, she froze. “That kind of language is _hardly_ appropriate for a woman of your position, your Majesty,” she said, far too calm for Emily’s likely.

“Oh bite my ass,” she snapped. “You do not get to chastise me when you’ve been acting like a child for four days.”

“Your mother would be _appalled_.”

She winced. Low blow. An _extremely_ low blow that had the precise effect that she knew Elizabeth had been going for. The woman was almost exactly twice her age, and _she_ was the one stomping around the Dreadful Wale with a scowl permanently set upon her features, and _seething_. “My mother,” she began slowly, “would be appalled by many decisions I have made. It is good then, no, that they are my decisions and not hers?” She clasped her hands before her, brows raised. Now that she had effectively caught the woman’s attention, propriety was fully back in place. Even if Daud swore like a sailor, she would not deign to indulge in such behaviour. “You seem to be having _quite_ the week.”

She sighed heavily, rubbing at her eyes which did nothing but smear the black kohl she was sporting. “We have been having…disagreements.”

“ _Really_?” she said sarcastically, eyes wide in false shock. “I had not noticed.”

“I really must have a talk with your father,” she said, tutting. “He is…worried about you, by the way.”

She snorted. “Not entirely surprising news.”

“I passed on a message regarding the situation. He understands, and is keeping your people from rioting,” she muttered, leaning against the wall, hiding her face in her hands. “No, yes, I mean… I have been arguing. Quite a lot.”

“I have heard it,” said the Empress. “Yet, I still do not know what you argue about. Do tell me it is nothing I have done?”

Outsider protect her, if she and Daud were arguing over matters pertaining Emily, she was _royally_ screwed. She could test Daud’s boundaries, and Elizabeth’s too to an extent, but she certainly did not want to cross either of them. It wasn’t that they particularly frightened her—though she daresay Daud still scared the daylights out of her, if only because of the memories associated with him—but the two had twice as much time to understand their profession than she did. She had been able to keep up with Corvo, certainly, but Daud was twice as good as Corvo was, and he had taught Elizabeth personally. They were a threat, and she couldn’t let herself forget that.

But when an intimidating assassin was throwing a tantrum…

Elizabeth frowned, shocked by Emily’s worries. “Why would you say that?” she said. “No, we were not arguing about you. It was…I told Daud about Galia.”

“ _Shit_.”

“Emily Kaldwin,” Elizabeth hissed. “Watch your language.”

She could have sworn that she saw the woman trying not to smile. “Let me guess,” she continued, not pausing, “Daud did not take too kindly to the information.”

“No, it is infinitely more difficult than that.” The noblewoman looked utterly exhausted, truth be told. Purple-blue bruises marked the skin underneath her grey eyes, and her shoulders—usually pushed back in a display of authority—had sagged completely. The wrinkles that ran like tributaries across her fine features seemed deeper than ever. Normally, they did little but add to her appearance but today… Today they did nothing but reiterate that both she and Daud were getting far too old to be doing this sort of thing. The Outsider had called them out of their retirement—she distantly remembered one of them saying that they had retired to Serkonos, but she wasn’t quite certain. Elizabeth ran a hand over her face, muttering something below her breath before saying, “He feels…” She looked off into the distance, focusing on a pile clutter in the corner, if only to avoid looking Emily in the eyes. “Responsible.”

The woman’s response took her by surprise. Responsible? Did the Knife of Dunwall truly feel guilt for the woman he had given a chance of having a new life? In her mind, Daud had done nothing wrong. Not in this situation, anyhow. How could he have known what distancing himself from his whalers would do? Or that Galia would have died just for a taste of that power once again? She was starting to understand that her childhood bitterness, directed towards Daud for not disbanding of his merry men long before he ever received her mother’s contract, was far from a reasonable want. There were complications, she had not anticipated, being nothing more than child of ten. To many of those in Daud’s care, that was the only life they had known. Picked up off of the streets, and given a knife instead. In a way, he had saved them all.

And it was Daud who had saved Elizabeth, only to be saved by her all these years later.

“Responsible?” Emily said tentatively. “Why?”

“He thinks he never should have left,” she answered. “That in leaving, he damned them all. I tried to bring up the point that had he stayed, Corvo would have killed him and the same thing would have occurred. The fact that Rinaldo is alive and safe means little to him. Even Thomas, his third in command, is off in Morley with a family. He seems to have made reparations with Billie, even if the tension is still there… One person. He is hung up over _one_ person.”

“So you’ve been…”

“Trying to get him out of this ludicrous mood he is currently in,” she grumbled. “Did you think we were fighting?”

She yawned. “You’ve been arguing until at least three in the morning.”

Her face fell, suddenly seeming to realise the small space they had all found themselves in did little to muffle sound. “I would thought you would have fallen asleep by then,” she said. “My apologies regardless.”

“I have been having…trouble,” she confessed, but said nothing else. Two nights prior, she had awoke covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat, her heart pounding in her ears. She could feel ghostly and ice-cold fingertips dancing over her skin as though an invisible force had been drawing circles on her body. The water she’d dreamt she’d been drowning in was as black as the night outside, and its weight still held her down even as she paced the length of her room, her adrenaline keeping her awake. She shivered, thinking back to the whale song that had resonated throughout the sea she’d found herself in, shaking her to her very bones. “Sleep, I find, alludes me nowadays.”

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the whalebone charm around her neck, hummed, and fell silent. “You know,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Some people say dreams have meanings.”

“We are here to discuss the nature of your entirely childish impropriety, and the behaviour you have been recently displaying which I cannot help but condemn.” Fingertips drummed at the surface of the table before her, tapping a beat that grew faster and faster with her impatience.

She smiled. “You sound like your mother.”

Emily did not share Elizabeth’s amusement. She was not her mother. She never would be, and Outsider’s eyes, she wanted people to stop saying such things. “Thanks,” she said through gritted teeth, “but my remark still stands.”

She threw her hands up in the air in a display of frustration. “You try speaking with Daud.”

“I will pass, thank you.”

She smiled but there was an animosity in it that did not escape Emily, the action more akin to bearing one’s teeth. She was playing with a vipers, she couldn’t forget that, and Elizabeth was far more dangerous than she let on. “Then forgive me if this situation has taken a toll on me to such an extent that I cannot help but have outbursts of irritation.” She grabbed an apple off of a nearby table, shoving it into her pocket before retreating to her room.

Why did she feel like she was playing nanny to children who’d been taught to be killers? She rubbed at her charm absentmindedly as she tucked her book into the inside pocket of her jacket as she went to escape the stifling, and confining room. The choppy seas had calmed to an unnatural stillness about a day back, unlike anything Emily had ever seen. There were next to no ripples in the water, except from their boat, and from creatures swimming underneath the surface.

Something off on the horizon moved underneath the surface, disturbing the peace with its movement. It broke through the surface with a great spray of salt water, a flash of dark blue-grey skin contrasting against the pale wash of fog. From this distance, and through the thick cloud, it was nearly invisible; shapeless, formless, and seeming like nothing more than a dark spot. Emily glimpsed a flash of a tail larger than the Wale itself was slipping back under the water before the strange creature disappeared entirely.

Had the skies been clear, she was certain the sight of the open ocean would have been spectacular but the same fog that had settled over Dunwall the day that they had left had blanketed the Dreadful Wale in its embrace. It was difficult to see more than ten metres radius from the helm, the fog so thick and so dense that it washed them all in a cool grey light.

And Billie was growing increasingly frustrated.

“Is there _nothing_ you can do to make this go away?” the Captain growled as Emily emerged on to the deck, her dark eyes flashing with her pent up frustration.

She glanced around at the fog, wincing when she realised that it had thickened overnight, and she could barely see the bow from the helm. She shook her head, “Don’t think so.”

She let out a string of curses in a language Emily did not know. “We’re sailing blind,” she said. “My compasses stop working every twenty minutes, _on the dot_ , and now we can’t even see.”

“I’m sorry.” Emily tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, still fiddling with her charm in one hand. She toyed with it so much recently that some of the engravings had already started to wear down.

Billie raised a brow, lips pursed. “It’s not your fault,” she said. She glanced at Emily out of the corner of her eye before focusing back on the sea. “You don’t look like yourself.”

She frowned. “How so?”

“I mean, you look…different.” Billie cocked her head, one hand still on the wheel as she turned away to scan Emily. Her brows furrowed but Emily did not know what she was looking at. “Happier.”

“Helps when my psychotic aunt isn’t trying to overthrow me,” she muttered.

“No, I saw that when you showed up at my door,” she said. “This is…different. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Emily thought back to her dream, and her meeting with the Outsider now almost a week past. A heat creeped up the back of her neck, though she did not know if it was embarrassment or something else entirely, but she prayed that the captain of the Dreadful Wale could not see it. Then, she shook her head though she knew she was lying to her as much as she was to Billie. “No,” she lied. “I’m just glad we’re getting close to finally starting to figure this out.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Emily,” muttered Billie. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but the pieces, I think, are finally starting to fall into place. For weeks, I’ve felt like this has been nothing more than a hectic mess with no pattern to it. I’m starting to realise that this…this goes beyond us.”

“You _are_ trying to save a god’s life.”

“I admit, I should have seen it coming.”

Billie burst into laughter. “Maybe.”

Emily looked out the window towards the foggy sky. There was no indication of what time it was, the dim grey light casting the ship in its glow. As far as she was aware, it could have been midnight. It was like wandering through the Void. Time had no meaning here. They existed in their own dimension, away from the rest of the world. She felt something pass behind her, air brushing the back of her neck, and spun around only to be met with empty space.

“Are we alone?” she asked worryingly, shivering as she felt the memory of ghostly fingertips drawing indecipherable patterns on her skin.

She arched a brow. “Elizabeth and Daud are still downstairs, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“Nothing,” Emily said quietly. “I thought maybe...” She shook her head again. No, it wasn’t relevant. It was an unfounded worry that made little sense. She ought to put it straight out of mind, and never bring it up again.

Still.

That did not stop the feeling of cold fingers sliding across bare, scarred skin that made her very bones hum. That did not stop the sound of whispers that rang in her ears, speaking nothing but sweet nothings in a language she did not understand, its words sounding older than time itself. That did not stop the sighs murmured against her skin that said nothing but one word:

 _Mine_.


	24. A Terrible Kiss (On Her Distant Lips)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She would give him her life, if it gave him what he wanted even if only for a moment._

Lately, Emily’s mind was a minefield. Her consciousness had to dance around buried fears, hidden worries, and worst of all: things she had decided that would never be spoken aloud. They were far too personal to even be written down in her journals. No, she kept them buried to herself, and repressed them as much as she could.

She was glad to hear that Daud and Elizabeth’s arguments were simply a manifestation of Daud’s guilt—though she had to admit, with how close she was unwillingly becoming with the two, she almost felt sympathetic for the Knife of Dunwall. That kind of grief, that kind of melancholic self-resentment was not something that would easily, nor quickly, disappear. She had suffered it herself, for the past several years, and Daud…

Daud had an entire lifetime of mistakes to mourn.

She was lying to herself. She didn’t _almost_ feel sympathetic.

She _did_ feel sympathetic.

And dammit, she hated that.

She rested her head in her hand, leaning on the surface of her desk as she stared at the wall, the shelves full with things she had picked up in Karnaca. She hated this. The waiting. The counting of the hours as they crept ever closer to their destination, not certain if they would have to turn around and immediately leave, empty handed and drained of energy.

Had someone—the Outsider himself, perhaps—told her that this was what her life would be like ten years past, perhaps she would have stayed in hiding. A life as a commoner was infinitely less confusing than this. Certainly, it was monotonous. Day after day after day, she would toil for barely enough coin to scrape by. Her father wouldn’t be an ocean away, and she would not be the one out on this grand adventure to save a kingdom.

Monotony was far better than this spontaneity that seemed keen on taking over everything in her life.

She wondered, briefly, who would be the ruler of the Isles had it not been her? Would Delilah still have been so desperate to one-up her younger sister, and settle for her witches instead? Or would nothing, not even the lack of an opponent to make it a challenge, stop her from craving the throne she thought she deserved?

Perhaps it was better this way.

Emily was the only one that was suffering. She felt as though she was _drowning_ , choking on water that seemed to think that it belonged in her lungs. Overwhelmed had started to become an understatement, and Emily did not know another word to call this suffocation she was enduring. Overcome, perhaps? She did not know if her situation was quite that bleak, not yet. She still had a fight in her but by the Outsider, was it becoming ever harder to drag herself out of bed every morning.

She was twenty six.

This was not a situation any twenty six year old should ever find themselves in. Though, she supposed, she had been given an empire at the age of ten. From then on, her troubles had only increased exponentially. Like powder being thrown onto flame, the death of her mother had sparked something within the very soul of the Empire. A momentary, blinding flash that ignited one misfortune which quickly spread to another, and another, and another, and another…

To say that Emily Kaldwin was bitter would not have done her fury-induced, and self-righteous seething justice.

Was it so _terrible_ to say that she did not deserve this?

There was blood on her hands that she could never scrub out but in comparison to others, she was damn near spotless. She had caught Daud scribbling in journals, and when she’d asked what they contained, he’d merely grunted about contracts, things he needed to do, and a recounting of the day’s events. She’d balked at the mention of contracts—she had forgiven his many errors, to some extent, but they still made her stomach churn. Outsider only knew how many volumes he had simply about contracts. Emily…Emily could count the number of those dead by her blade on one hand.

Well, one and a half, at least.

Did that not make her worthy? Did that not make her deserving? She could have turned out so much worse; could have become the very monster she had tasked herself with defeating. Yet, she had refused the call of temptation, and had been rewarded with what? Nothing but consequences for her valiant efforts? This wasn’t how this was supposed to work. Good behaviour was supposed to yield good results. Demonstrating honour was supposed to bring recognition, not be dishonoured by those you once loved. Patience was a virtue, so why was it that even suffering through all this misfortune, she had yet to be rewarded with something that made this all worthwhile?

She was starting to think that there wasn’t a point to any of this.

Who, aside from those on this boat, would stop her if she simply gave up?

The Outsider would certainly be disappointed but time and time again, he had said that he did not intervene—though that rule seemed to be irrelevant if his power or life was at risk. He was, perhaps, the only person who had any authority to command her to continue but she was not of enough importance to warrant breaking his own rules for.

She wasn’t certain why that angered her. He was a god, and was bound by the constraints that made him as such. If remaining impartial was one of those constraints, then she had _no_ right to ask him to change the world for her.

Mostly because some part of her knew that he would do so without complaint.

She closed her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh as she leaned her head back against the wall.  She wondered where her father was now. Was he still in Serkonos? It took two weeks simply to travel to the Jewel of the South so she didn’t quite know if Corvo had heard of her disappearance already. It wasn’t as though he could stop her now. She was so far from Dunwall now there was no possible way that they could chase after her.

“I know you’re there,” she murmured quietly, opening one eye to see the Outsider lounging in her chair, one arm propped over the backrest. Her lips pressed together. “You usually go a week between visits.”

“Do I?” he said quizzically. “Hm.”

“Hm? What does that mean?” She pushed herself upwards, and pulled her knees into her chest. His monosyllabic answers were the bane of her existence, particularly when coupled with his shrewdness made it near impossible to interpret his riddles. She was used to reading between the lines but when there was only a singular line…

He shrugged half-heartedly, and that was when she remembered that he was perpetually stuck as old as she was now. Fifteen… She couldn’t imagine what that would be like. He had aged little in the four thousand years he’d been in the Void, and she couldn’t even begin to think about how little social interaction he’d had in four millennia. It was probably the reason why he enjoyed her company so much.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said tightly, “I would enjoy some privacy.”

He frowned. Privacy was something she had never asked of him before. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but have I done something to offend you?”

She hadn’t realised that she was gripping her bedsheets so hard that her knuckles had turned white until she glanced down at her hands. She didn’t know why she was stressed out by his presence, only that she needed him to leave, and _now_.

He sat up straighter, seeing straight through her silence. “Very well,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

“No, wait, I’m sorry,” she blurted out, hiding her face in her hands. “You…interrupted me. I was thinking.”

“Dangerous business,” he said, echoing her words from their last meeting. “About?”

She met his eyes, immediately glancing away. She could still feel his fingers tracing her Mark, a now-familiar heat creeping up the back of her neck. She swallowed, hard, pushing her hair behind her ear if only for something to do.

“Your hair is down,” he observed, head cocked. His already-black eyes had grown dark with something unfamiliar. His brows knitted together as he disappeared, and reappeared next to her. “It’s never down.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, startled. He shook his head ever-so-slightly. He inspected a lock of her hair, twirling it around a ringed finger. She turned away from him, flinching away from his touch. She cursed inwardly as he dropped her hair, looking rather put out. “I’m sorry. I’m not…I’m not in the mood. Distract me.”

“Distract you?” She had rarely seen the Outsider confused but this...This was one those rare occasions. Something ugly flashed across his fine features—uncertainty, perhaps? She did not think it was an impossible request, or an altogether difficult one but the horror painted across his face said otherwise.

“You know,” she said rather lamely, “small talk.”

“ _Small talk?_ ” His eyes were wide now, completely perplexed by what she was asking of him.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll start. How’s the Void?”

“Empty.”

“No, you’re missing the point of this.” She was still pinching the bridge of her nose. This should not be this difficult, yet somehow… She wanted to rip out her hair. Watching Sokolov and Piero argue would have been more pleasant than this. She missed Piero, truth be told. Despite his aloofness and his more often than psychotic behaviour, he had treated her with kindness when few others had. It seemed as though her days at the Hound Pits were slowly slipping away. First Cecelia, then Callista, then Piero, and now Sokolov… It did little but remind her that she was growing up far faster than she would have liked. “It’s a distraction, remember?”

“Well…” He frowned. “It keeps disappearing.”

Emily had to inhale sharply just to keep from expressing her exasperation. She combed a hand through her hair. “Have you figured out why?” she asked, deciding to at least play along with the course this conversation had taken. “I do not mean to press but I daresay that this is something we ought to make one of our priorities.”

“ _My_ safety is not my priority, Emily,” she could have sworn him mutter.

He began to draw unfamiliar, strange patterns over the back of her left hand, the touch seeming remarkably familiar yet foreign, as though she was struggling to remember an event that had occurred years past. Hairs raised on the back of her neck; a sensation she had grown all too used to in the past several weeks. The familiarity—if that was what she could call this precarious dance of diplomatic politeness and brief intimacy—that they had come to share was something she no longer hungered for. No, she had come to expect it, and in a sense, the familiarity itself had become familiar.

It was almost difficult to think of a time when he hadn’t been there, in some way or another. The Outsider had followed Corvo every step of the way, even if Emily had not known that, and now…Now he was following her, like a ghost who sought livelihood in the living.

She would give him her life, if it gave him what he wanted even if only for a moment.

She reached over wordlessly, taking her hand in his. She gripped it tight, refusing to let go, refusing to let her one anchor to reality slip through her fingers. He was the only thing keeping her from simply giving up, from simply letting these waves that threatened to crash over her finally win. Yet, if he was her salvation from that which threatened to drown her, why did he never cease to take her breath away?

“Emily—” he said in what she was certain was supposed to be a sigh but came out as a barely-restrained keen as she, in a split second, straddled him. She all but pinned him to her bed, watching a muscle twitch in his jaw from behind a curtain of dark, loose hair. She wasn’t certain what had come over her but any intention to move did not exist in her heart. She traced his jaw with her thumb only for her wrist to be caught in a calloused hand. “ _Emily_.” He was sterner this time, more forceful, more determined but the conviction she wanted, the conviction she _needed_ to stop her was not there. “What are you doing?”

His conviction may have been lacking but she had quite the opposite problem. She’d had enough of doubting her decisions. “Am I bothering you?” she drawled in a tone she’d heard used so many times at the Golden Cat. Callista had been mortified the first time she’d used it, insisting that Emily un-learn everything she’d been taught during her days of captivity. Of course, Emily’s stubbornness had done nothing but remember her teachings further. She gently tugged her wrist out of his grasp and he did nothing to stop her, though she was certain he was more than physically capable of restraining her should he try. Her eyes never left his, even as she ran a finger down his chest, coming back up to rest on his shoulder before her actions became too explicit.

His response came out choked, a keen barely disguised in his voice that sounds far older than he looks. “Hardly.” She could tell that his clipped response is the most he can get out without losing his composure. He cleared his throat—an entirely unnecessary gesture, she was certain. It was too human to be escaping his lips by accident.

She cocked her head, watching him with wry amusement. His Adam’s apple bobbed as her hair swept over her shoulder and brushed against his neck. “Are you lying to me?”

“What are you doing, Emily?” he repeated, trying to cling on to his sense of normality that she was so desperate to take from him.

“Trying to prove that you’re more human than you think you are.” The answer was surprisingly honest. Her curiosity had always been the bane of her existence, and this was no different. She wanted to break him. She wanted to see what he was like beneath that cool exterior. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“About _what?_ ” The growl was unmistakable. She was toeing the line between impropriety and the intimacy he’d allowed them to share.

“You said you don’t play favourites.” She was grasping at straws if only to draw this out for a moment longer. The instant she let go, the instant she stepped away he would disappear, and she did not know when they would see each other again. She gripped the collar of his jacket so suddenly that he was forced to recline, using a hand to prop himself up. “If you don’t play favourites, why do you seem so keen on spending time with me?”

“I don’t,” he said in a hiss but was unable to hide his shock at her assertiveness. He blinked, once, twice, and wetted his lips. “There are…few that I watch with greater interest.”

“And what if,” she said coyly, “I am tired of you… _watching_?”

“ _Emily_ —”

“Give me this one thing,” she said, all but begging him. “You owe me that much. Tell me. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

Her request was met with silence.

“I’m right then.” She was not certain if she was overjoyed that her nagging suspicions that the Outsider’s affection for her was far more human than she’d been led to believe, or she was frightened of the possibilities following this confession.

He abruptly straightened, the movement forcing him to be a mere hair’s breadth away. His jacket scratched her chest through her thin cotton shirt. His brows set in a line, he cracked a smirk that she wanted nothing more than to slap off his face. “Have I given you what you wanted, _your Majesty?_ ”

No. No, he hadn’t. The heat she’d felt creeping up the back of her neck for days now had engulfed her entirely; out of the frying pan and into the fire. She found herself unable to answer him as he slipped a hand to rest in the small of her back, keeping her close as he used his other hand to slip her hair away from her collarbone.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Emily Kaldwin,” he murmured.

“Is that not—” She cut herself off as she gasped, the Outsider running a nail across the bared skin of her throat. She swallowed. “Is that not the point?”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but I think that you will find that I am not someone who will bend to your whims. If you think that Daud is difficult, I _assure_ you that I am beyond compare. You are trying to prove something, and I am uncertain as to what that may, and on most occasions I am more than happy to indulge but this…” He looked up at her from under long lashes. “I think you will find that this is not the way to get the answers you are searching for.” He reached his hand up, grabbing a fistful of her hair as he pulled her head downwards, as he snarled, “Do not test me.”

She was not as easily intimidated as he thought she would be, and she was going to prove that. If she hadn’t intended to do so a moment ago, she certainly intended to do so now. “I will do what I please.” She meant to sound confident, meant to sound in control but the words came out as a hushed whisper.

To her surprise, the Outsider merely sighed, letting go of her. “You will be the death of me, Emily.”

She made no attempt move away from him, her heart still racing in her chest. “My dear Outsider,” she murmured, one of the few times she’d uttered his name aloud, “what are you holding back from me?”

He met her eyes, something dark and hungry in his Void-black eyes. “My darling Emily, I’m not entirely certain you are—”

“Do not finish that sentence.” Her authority was clear. Years as Empress had finally paid off, now leaving her able to silence a god. His mouth snapped shut with a little prompting from Emily, tapping a finger under his chin. “You are worse than any of the nobles I have ever associated myself with,” she said, still in that voice Callista had despised. “You wear the same masks as them but do not have the courtesy to admit as much.”

He scoffed which did nothing but irritate her further.

“Stop holding back,” she said in a hoarse whisper. She did not know if she was on the verge of tears or if her false bravado was finally starting to slip away. “Stop dancing around the question. Stop pretending not to care. Show me that you give a _damn_ —”

The rest of her words got caught in her throat, the Outsider lurching forward instead of disappearing entirely. He pulled her towards with such ferocity and pulled her to the side so he was now on top of her, pressing her back into the wall as they met in a clash of teeth with the Outsider showing no intention of stopping. Breath was something Emily found herself possessing little of, unable to break away from the Outsider for more than a split second before he grabbed her again and forced her to return to him.

His ringed hands grasped at her—her what? There was little that his hands do not touch. They gripped her waist with enough strength that she is certain she will have bruises, and they knotted through her hair to pull her head back as his lips moved to her throat, continuing their ministrations there. They pulled at her shoulders, desperate to keep her close to him and refusing to let go.

She had often said that she was his in her entirety, and it seemed that he was finally taking what belonged to him.

And she had no qualms about it.

He pinned her wrists above her head, forcing them into the cool wall of the Wale-that-wasn’t-actually-the-Wale. The smell of charcoal, and ash, and gunpowder—the very things she had come to associate with him—left her head spinning as she gasped, all forms of eloquence escaping her in that short moment that felt longer than anything else she’d ever experienced.

“I think you will find that giving _too much_ of a damn,” the Outsider said, taking half a step back, her angry remarks sounding strange falling from his lips, “is my problem rather than the opposite. So if you would: stop _testing_ me.” She hardly had the time to react as the world snapped back into focus angrily, the gentle transition non-existent with the Outsider’s current lack of patience for her, and left her with her heart pounding in her ears.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out although she was really anything but, her words falling on deaf ears of an audience of one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Hate to be smug but: you're welcome.~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> If you guys enjoyed remember to leave a comment, and if you haven't yet, drop a kudos!


	25. Within and Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The pain reminded her that she was here, that all that she had experienced was truly reality. She was not certain if this was reassuring or frightening. It gave her something to hold on to but that also meant that she would be stuck the mistakes she had made."_

Emily’s fingers ran over her chapped lower lip, her mind spinning with the events that had occurred not a day prior. Elizabeth and Daud had finally emerged from their solitude and were now animatedly discussing something that sounded like white noise to the young Empress; the noblewoman using grand gestures to explain complicated thoughts, and the assassin too busy chuckling over her actions to properly contribute.

It seemed surreal, in hindsight, and Emily knew that this dream-like stupor should have been expected but that did not stop her from lingering on her memories. She had provoked him—probably with the intention of it resulting in the way that it had—and his reaction was only natural. She should have seen it coming more than a mile away but his fervent, desperate, _hungry_ reaction to her taunts had taken her by surprise. There was more to the Outsider than she could have known—could have seen, could have thought.

Regardless, she did not regret her behaviour, however improper it might have been.

She snapped out of her stupor long enough to realise that this was the first time she had seen Daud in nearly a week. Both his and Elizabeth’s words still sounded like nonsense to her but the exhaustion painted across Daud’s scarred visage quickly became evident to her. He was far from being a conventionally attractive man—though she had an inkling he could be, should he actually try to look as such—what with his scars and brows permanently set in a line, and a scowl etched into his features. However, the bags under his eyes were more than just a sign of age; a horrible purple in colour, and did nothing but accentuate how old he had become. She could have sworn that there was more grey in his charcoal-black hair than usual, the stubble that had emerged during his days of isolation enhancing his age further. His normally proud stature had sagged, shoulders no longer pushed back but pushed downwards, and chin no longer raised high. Every time he blinked, his eyes remained closed a moment longer than what would have been usually, and there were many times that he bit back a yawn.

She had not realised that news of Galia’s death would have wounded him so severely.

In her eyes, he had done little. He had escaped his life, as was his right, and had ensured—if Billie’s words were anything to go by—that there was someone capable of stepping up in his place. If Daud’s men had depended so strongly on his gifts, then they hardly deserved them. A good assassin, she thought, would be able to complete the job regardless of the materials they had been given.

She winced. Was this what she had become? Not judging assassins for being murderers, but for failing to do their job well? The whalebone necklace grew warm as though to reassure her that she was not becoming the very thing she despised. Or perhaps that was simply her imagination.

“—I was thinking then, perhaps we ought to raise an army of the dead if only to grant us some security. Would that not be quite an excellent solution?” she distantly heard Elizabeth saying. “See? She is not listening. I could say that we intend on feeding her to the fishes, and I do not think she would blink. Emily, would you be fine with that?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” she hummed, not really listening to the noblewoman’s words. She paused. “Wait—”

Elizabeth burst into laughter as Emily frowned, still struggling to catch up with the conversation. Even Daud, despite his perpetually solemn demeanour, cracked a small smile. “She’s alive,” he said under his breath.

“I was…” She scrambled for an excuse and found none. “Distracted.”

“Clearly,” he said, not sounding aggressive or even antagonistic—which she had come to expect from him—but simply drained, and indifferent. He wasn’t anything. He simply _was_ , and she did not quite know if this was better or worse than he was normally. He set his folded hands on the rough surface of the table before him, looking nothing more than a parental figure holding an intervention.

Void damn her, she missed her father.

“We are to arrive in Yaro by tomorrow morn,” he said calmly. “We need to ensure that we are prepared for the several day journey to the village the Outsider spoke of.”

It was difficult for Emily to wrap her mind around how long this journey had taken them already. It had taken them nearly four weeks to journey from Dunwall to Dabokva, then one and a half from Dabokva to where they were now. She had been confined in a small space with the Knife of Dunwall for _five and a half_ weeks, and had not yet killed him.

So much for the rumours surrounding the young Empress’ impulsive temper.

Not that… Not that she could ever use this as an example without raising more rumours.

“We will have to walk,” Elizabeth sighed, as though Emily did not already know that. She held her head in her hands. “It will take us five days, by my estimate.”

How good were her estimates? Being Jessamine’s former advisor and confidante, Emily knew that Elizabeth had received the same—if not better—education as she had. Callista had been talented, certainly, but there was only so much she could teach Emily while at the Hound Pits.

Emily wrapped an arm around its opposite shoulder, fingertips digging into flesh with such strength that it made her wince. The pain reminded her that she was here, that all that she had experienced was truly reality. She was not certain if this was reassuring or frightening. It gave her something to hold on to but that also meant that she would be stuck the mistakes she had made.

“What’s wrong with you?” Daud grunted, noticing Emily’s strange silence.

She shrugged half-heartedly. Truth be told, she wasn’t certain. She should have been proud of herself for being right. She should have been _gloating_. But this was not how she’d wanted to be successful. The answers she’d been searching for had raised nothing but more questions that had left her head spinning more than it had before. This was not the victory she had wanted. It felt… _wrong_. Undeserving. Why did she feel so guilty? She had pushed the Outsider further than she had meant to, and had seen a glimpse—Void knew what else he was hiding if that was nothing more than a glimpse—of who he was when he was not restraining himself.

She hated that she wanted to see that part of him again.

“I need a drink.” She had barely finished speaking before Elizabeth had an unbranded bottle of alcohol on the table, accompanied by two glasses. Though it wasn’t entirely her place to judge the noblewoman’s drinking habits, she had to admit that they concerned her.

She had rarely seen Elizabeth without a flask, or without the scent of alcohol hidden under floral perfume. The woman had many things she wanted to forget, Emily knew as much, but none of it seemed to warrant a perpetual state of semi-drunkenness. There was something else she was hiding, something that was certainly a recent development that had prompted a casual drink to turn into something greater, if Daud’s disappointed sigh every time she pulled out a bottle was any indication. The glass was cool against her bare hands though she did not hold it for very long, downing the amber contents with a single gulp before passing it back to Elizabeth for another.

Dutifully, she poured Emily another glass, a frown upon her stained lips. “Did something occur?” she asked carefully.

There was a familiar prickling of magic in Emily’s ears, a ringing as an outside force tried to push itself into her mind. She threw it back out with such strength that Elizabeth visibly winced, her breath hitching in her throat. “Get out of my head,” she snarled, downing the alcohol and relishing its burn as it slid down her throat before slamming the glass down on the table.

“I am not doing it intentionally,” she snapped, the colour drained from her face from Emily’s violent retaliation. “Your thoughts are more chaotic than the spread of a sexually transmitted disease in a whorehouse.” The phrase was out of character for Elizabeth, and sounded suspiciously like something Daud would have said. She rubbed at her temples, still grimacing. “Outsider’s blood, can you try to let me down easy next time?”

 “Sorry,” Emily said, though her heart was not in her words. She did regret causing the woman pain, to some extent, but the fear of Elizabeth discovering her most recent mistake overrode her common sense. She ran a hand over her face, starting to feel the alcohol buzz in her system, its warmth gradually spreading throughout her. It did little but take the edge off, soothing the ache in her bones that Emily had not realised had been there until it had disappeared. She cleared her throat though it came out closer to a cough. “So what’s the plan, then? We arrive in Yaro, and we, what? Walk north and hope we find our way?”

“Hopefully, we try and find a transport of some sort.” Elizabeth was still rubbing her temples. “Emily, do me a favour and never do that again. I will be feeling that tomorrow, of that I am certain.” She pursed her lips as Daud snorted. “I hardly find it amusing.”

“Shame,” he said, “because I do.”

She merely rolled her eyes, and turned back to Emily. “There are sled dogs we may be able to hire.”

“You know how to use a dog sled?” Daud said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know this.”

“My family used to visit Redmoor every few years,” she replied as though a trip to the northerrnmost part of Gristol was a trivial matter. “We had to learn if we wanted to get to our manor.”

“You had a _manor_ in _Redmoor_?”

“Yes, Daud, now please, back to the subject at hand.” She drummed her fingers on the surface of the table, humming to herself as she thought. “I have snowshoes in the storage room. I…picked them up while we were in Dabokva. See, I thought ahead. Look at me.”

“If I looked at you every time you asked me to, El, I wouldn’t stop looking at you.”

“Like you could keep your eyes off of me, old man,” she jested, elbowing Daud in the side. He made no attempt to argue, merely pulling her closer to his side. “You ready for a bit of camping in the cold, Empress?”

“It is not a choice that I think I possess,” she admitted rather gravely. “We must go whether or not we are prepared to do so is…irrelevant. The stakes are greater than we are. There is much at risk, and it is our duty to see this through.”

“You have a death wish.” Daud’s words were barely audible, his scratchy voice that sounded as though he’d spent years smoking—though Emily had never seen him with a cigar—even lower when it was under his breath.

She bristled, pushing her shoulders back. “It’s our duty,” she repeated, stronger this time.

“In all due respect, I heard you the first time.”

“Then there is no need for any arguments,” she said sternly. “We are doing what must be done.”

He huffed, clearly not pleased by how quickly and easily she had shut down his unpleasantness. This journey was taxing enough already, and any negativity would do little but make it more difficult. A five day journey across large expanses of thin ice, a snowy tundra, and winds so cold that they could—and possibly _would_ —freeze any skin exposed to it. They were entering the belly of the beast now. The hungry jaws of this perpetual winter would swallow them whole, and would not have the courtesy to spit them back out. Any failures from here on out would be permanent, and certainly fatal. Up until now, this journey had been—relatively speaking—a breeze. Arguments with her mother’s killer paled in comparison to the threat they now faced.

This would be like comparing a game of chess to an actual war. Everything up until now had been child’s play. Her opponents had been just as mortal as she—with the exception of Delilah, for a short period of time there—but now she was facing the weather itself. It had no personal bias, no care for her life, no care for anything but to do what it pleased, and damned be those who found themselves the object of its wrath. This was not a fight that could be won with words, or with a blade. She did not know how this would end but she was certain that the sacrifices she would have to make were not going to be trivial.

She pursed her lips, glancing down at her feet. “We are doing what must be done,” she repeated in a whisper as though to convince herself that what she was saying was true.

Even then, something in the back of her mind said otherwise.

Sure enough, as Daud had said, they pulled into Yaro’s port at dawn. If Dabokva had been a winter wasteland, Yaro was twice as snowy. There were no towering structures, or the distant outline of the famed Dabokva Citadel off on the horizon. There was no coherence to the city, lacking the arching, curved lines and bright colours splashed against white stone. Instead, all the buildings were squat and ramshackle, constructed of a hectic mess of various materials.

The air was twice as cold as it had been in Dabokva, Emily’s breath condensing on stray locks of her hair and freezing into sharp, crystalline shards that scratched at her cheek. She shivered as she tugged on her fur-lined gloves, flipping the hood of the coat Billie had given her. “Are you certain you can’t come with us?” she said, turning back to look at Billie.

“This is where my journey ends,” she replied mournfully. “There’s a reason you three were chosen for this task, Emily, and it’s entirely to do with that Mark on the back of your hand.” She held up her bare left hand, twisting and turning it to show how the skin was bare of any black stains. “I’m afraid I’m not included. I’ll be here when you return.”

 _If_ they returned, Emily thought.

She swallowed, removing the sparrow pin from her inner jacket, folding it into Billie’s hands. “You can give this back to me when I next see you,” she said in a small voice. “If I don’t come back—”

“Empress, in all due respect, I don’t think that there’s anything that can kill you,” Billie said, cutting her off.

“Regardless,” she sighed. “There’s…There’s a letter in my room. Find my father, and give it to him, will you?”

“ _Your Majesty_ —”

“Billie, please.” The words came out choked, the very thought of not living to see Dunwall restored shaking her to the core. “If we fail, Corvo must finish this. Void knows what will happen if the Outsider dies—” The idea had pained her before but it hurt twice as much now. She gritted her teeth. “Dunwall must survive, no matter the cost. Is that clear? I need you to swear to me that you will ensure that no matter what may happen, all attempts to save Dunwall will be made.”

Billie’s horror was clear. She had rarely mentioned her determination to preserve her kingdom—to anyone, for that matter. It was common knowledge that she, as Empress, cared for the Isles but this fierce, angry resolve was unlike anything Billie had ever seen. Gone was Emily’s—usually—collected demeanour, replaced with a fiery passion that was set on burning through anything that stood in her way. “I swear,” she said after much hesitation. “If that is what you will have of me.”

Emily knew that Billie still somehow felt indebted to her for Daud’s mistakes those years ago, and she figured that the way they had departed the last time had done little to soothe Billie’s guilt-ridden conscience. She placed a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “Thank you,” was all she said but it was all she needed to. It acknowledged this daunting task Emily had set upon her unwilling companion, and the countless attempts to make right by Jessamine’s memory Billie had made. A soft smile passed over Billie’s lips but Emily did not have the time to dally.

She squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we say goodbye to Billie. She will be back, not to worry, but for now...At least you can rest easy about her fate since I don't write characters off unless they're "on screen." For all the "on screen" characters however... Well, they're up for the taking.


	26. My Fires Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"It burns in the water, the ice does nothing but spread the flames. And Dunwall will fall."_

Emily decided that she liked Yaro. It reminded her of Potterstead with its friendly inhabitants that seemed to have abolished with the class system altogether; nobles and commoners intermingling and even shooting grins towards Emily’s rather eclectic group of companions. Their familiarity was almost unnerving. She had grown up in Dunwall whose inhabitants were as cold as the breeze that tore through the city at night.

She pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders, ducking her head to keep from meeting curious strangers’ eyes. “Where are we going?” she asked Elizabeth, voice hushed. The noblewoman was navigating the town with more ease than should have been expected, still pausing every so often, her eyes briefly flashing black. She wasn’t certain she wanted to know what it was Elizabeth was seeing.

“There’s a woman,” she replied, sounding dazed. “She will take us up to Uzhasnyy.”

“Uzhasn…Uzha…” Emily struggled to say the word.

Elizabeth stopped mid-stride, turning to look at Emily. “Ooh-zsha-nee,” she said, sounding it out phonetically so easily that she almost seemed fluent in the original native tongue of Tyvia which had not been spoken in many years. “It’s the name of the village the Outsider spoke of.”

She frowned. “Do I want to know how you came about this information?”

She shrugged and continued marching. “What matters is that we get to Uzhasnyy,” she said. “As soon as possible. We have yet to discover what the vision I received was about, save for the end of all things, and I would rather avoid having to deal with any of it.”

“Might be a bit late.” Daud’s words, although muttered, were deafening. He jerked his head towards the docks they had only just set off from, Emily’s heart stopping when she saw what he spoke of.

A ship carrying whale oil had tipped ever-so-slightly, its escaped contents floating out on to the harbour in large, metal containers. This, while troubling, was not the source of their concern. Tyvia, being so far up north, was permanently cast in night half the year. Unfortunately for Emily, they had arrived during one of these times, and it was only the many gas lanterns and burning torches—whale oil was expensive up here, and mixing it with other ingredients and burning it was far more efficient than using pure whale oil especially now that the whales were dying—that managed to light up Yaro’s streets and ships. The ship had, rather unfortunately, been weighed down on side to such an extent that it had crashed against the docks, and any containers of whale oil which had been unceremoniously dumped on the sharp jagged rocks were now leaking their milky blue liquid out into the waters.

The ship’s crew scrambled to get their lost cargo back, too preoccupied with trying to retrieving cargo worth four times their year’s salary to notice how dangerously close their torches were getting to the oil-laced water.

Daud tried to grab Emily’s hand but she broke free, running towards the docks. Desperation fuelled her, propelling her feet—left, right, left, right, left right leftrightleftright—“Get back! _Get back!_ ” she called out to the sailors. There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she tried to control her breathing. A voice in the back of her mind recognised the coppery taste but with everything else going on at the present moment, she barely noticed it. It was nothing more than a distraction from the task at hand. “It’s not safe!” She did not know if the sailors could hear her, raising her voice to try again. “ _IT’S NOT—_ ”

The water burst into flames before she could catch their attention. It seemingly ignited all at once, the coppery flames spreading across the water surrounding the ship in an instant. The heat was unbearable, and acrid black smoke filled Emily’s lungs. Chaos itself seemed to manifest within this contained area, not even the Outsider capable of creating such destruction.

The heat of the flames expanded the air within the sealed containers of whale oil, and soon they too exploded into a great burst of angry red and orange waves with a loud bang that made her ears ring. The shockwave sent her stumbling back from the water’s edge, explosion after explosion tearing apart the ship, and anything unfortunate enough to be in the area. Distantly, over the sounds of roaring fire and the horrified exclaims from bystanders, the screams of the ship’s crew could be heard. It repeated in her ears like a song that refused to leave, burrowing itself in her head, and making a home there. She could hear little else, and couple with the smoke taking away both her sight and her breath, she was all but useless. She was breathless from both shock and the thick midnight-black smoke that had filled the area, the daze blurring her vision even more than the smoke had.

The flames illuminated the sky, reflected by the thick fog until the clouds themselves seemed to be made of pure amber. Every time the flames sputtered, she hoped that they would die, and this whirlwind of orange would disappear, but they returned with a vengeance, twice as strong as before. Fingers of bronze and crimson reached for the stars rendered invisible by the roiling waves of smoke.

Her head swum, and she was vaguely aware of hitting the ground with a jolt that made her teeth rattle. The entire harbour had gone up in flames, the water itself seeming to burn, and the fire entirely undeterred by the large chunks of ice floating in the salt water. The inferno simply ate its way through it, determined to devour every ounce of whale oil that had been spilled. If anything, the ice moved as it melted, only further spreading the oil as it fell to pieces.

_It burns in the water, the ice does nothing but spread the flames._

Elizabeth’s vision had started to come true.

Through the cloud of smoke in her head, Emily recalled the next line, her heart threatening to stop.

_And Dunwall will fall._

It had taken weeks for this part of her vision to come to pass. Surely there was still time to save Dunwall? To save her empire? If Dunwall fell, the entirety of the Isles would erupt into chaos. She needed to escape this fire, needed to go save the Isles but her limbs felt as though the entire weight of a whale was keeping her down; her bones wrought of lead, and every single lock of hair might as well have been a coil of rope. No determination could save her now. She was fighting a physical force, not a mental one, and this was not a situation Emily had ever trained for. She could fight tooth and nail with anything that had a corporeal form but her fears of the very environment being against them had manifested sooner than she had thought. This was a very real threat that existed on a separate plane altogether. Emily, for all her virtues, could not fight smoke, could not fight fire.

“You have to get up.” A calm voice broke through the chaos in Emily’s head, smoke-induced teary eyes unable to see who was speaking. “Emily.”

She blinked back her tears to see a pair of silver-buckled black boots before the smoke stung at her eyes and she was once again rendered blind. There was no sound save for the sharp hissing of the fire, and the memory of the crew’s last cry. The heat had rendered touch all but useless, everything feeling the same kind of burning agony that had become so constant, Emily nearly didn’t notice it. She was deprived of all senses. Even her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, the smoke sucking out every ounce of water. Was this what it would be like if she died? An entirety in the Void in this cool peace found in terror?

“ _Emily_.”

She struggled in vain to open her eyes again, and found herself face to face with the Outsider, his black eyes shining with orange light, and thick brows set in a line. She coughed, her entire body racking as she tried to inhale. She tried to speak, finally catching her breath, before she was overwhelmed with coughs once again. One step forward, two steps back.

“I leave you alone for two days,” he muttered, and through the daze, she felt herself being lifted up, her head braced by a heavy object that in this chaos, seemed far too real. The Outsider let out a sigh. “Tell me, Emily, is it that you crave danger, or are you simply unlucky?”

“Shut up.” The two words were all she could muster, and took all the breath she had been saving up. No sooner than when she had finished, was she coughing once more. The air seemed to be getting hotter, if that was even possible, and burned her lungs every time she inhaled. Her body was starting to shake, and rather than heat, a strange cold was seeping into her very bones.

“If I am not permitted to die on you, Emily Kaldwin,” the Outsider hissed, “then I shall not grant you the same opportunity.” He said something in a language she did not know, though she suspected by his tone that it was some sort of curse. Had she not been so incapacitated, she would have laughed.

Then, all sensation faded away.

The burning cold had disappeared, and same had the scorching heat. Sound was sucked into a vacuum, disappearing with a whispered hush. Air filled her lungs as though it had been forced into them; with great force and in a rush. She wheezed coughing as she rolled over her onto her side, trying not to wretch. She pushed herself up onto her forearms, gagging as she kept her forehead pressed against cold stone. Her eyes still smarted from the smoke, and she was certain the wetness on her cheeks were involuntary tears.

“I had it under control,” she said through gritted teeth, voice coming out raspy.

“ _Did you!_ ” the Outsider shouted with such ferocity any inflection indicating a question disappeared entirely. She heard him move towards her, heel clicking against the Void’s stone island. “Did you now, Emily? As far as I could see, you were seconds away from death!”

“I thought you said you did not interfere,” she hissed, refusing to look at him in this state. “You should have left me to die.”

He stopped, not taking another step. “I could not allow that,” he said quietly, and she wasn’t certain if this was any better than having him yell, and scream, and roar at her. She almost wanted his anger. She could understand that far better than she could understand this. He crouched down beside her, brushing a burnt lock of hair away from her face. It fell to ash under his touch but with a mere press of his hand to her shoulder, all traces of the fire she’d been caught in had disappeared. He let out a sigh. “Emily, look at me.”

She winced, flinching away from him. He froze before reaching towards her tentatively, giving her a chance to move further away before placing two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t tell me,” she rasped. “I look terrible.”

“Even on your worst days, you look far superior to many others.”

She didn’t know what else to say so she settled for mumbling, “Thanks.” She took his outstretched hand, allowing him to help her up. There was a strange aching sensation that had started to spread across her body, nothing but the ghost of the pain the Outsider had lifted from her. She took no more than two steps when she tripped, her knee suddenly giving out. She couldn’t help but crack a smile when the Outsider caught her. “Looks like our roles have been reversed,” she said.

He almost seemed to wince at her casual mention of them time he’d collapsed in her arms but said nothing about it. He merely looked down at her with those strange, captivating eyes, a faint smile upon his pale lips. He brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, his finger straying a moment too long against her cheek.

His touch burned hotter than the fire had.

In the disaster that had occurred—and was still occurring, for others—Emily had been too wrapped up in her own head trying to survive, that she had forgotten to search for a familiar face among the flames. “ _Billie_ —” she gasped, horrified.

“Your companions are all alive,” he assured. “Safe.”

“I have to get back.” It wasn’t a question. The authoritative tone she had learned to use as Empress was in full effect—the very tone she had refrained from using with him, their familiarity negating the need for status or title. After the recent events, it seemed necessary.

He nodded curtly. With a simple gesture, a portal of opened before her, humming with energy. Unlike Elizabeth’s in the very fabric of the world which looked like nothing more than a Void-black rip, this was made of swirling white light. He stood by, hands clasped behind his back. His cool indifference almost made her want to scream.

She stepped towards the portal, then froze. “Did you mean it?” she asked. “That you cared, or were you lying?”

He glanced down at the ground. It was then that Emily noticed the thin black lines running across the stone as though the Outsider had sewn the island back together in an attempt to keep it from collapsing. “Lies conceal the truth but however effectively they may be, the truth is always discovered in time. For a being as old as I am, I find that it is better to not waste such time with those possessing a short life span.”

She sighed.

“Yes,” he clarified. “I meant it.”

She hummed to herself, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. “I’m glad,” she said before stepping through the portal.

Emily did not know how much time had passed since she had left but when she stepped foot on— _normal_ —solid ground again, the fire had dulled to a dim glow, orange fading to a faint wash of yellow. Charred bodies bobbed in the water, burned beyond all recognition. She was not certain if it was the rather jarring sensation of falling through the portal or if it was because of the horror she was now faced with dealing with but Emily gagged, leaning against the wall of a nearby building to keep from retching.

Each breath was shaky, catching in her throat, as she struggled to control her reaction to the scene. People were dead, and it was too late to change that now. She could not do anything but continue on, find Elizabeth and Daud, and ensure that she saved the rest of the Isles. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed like an impossible task but it was keeping her eyes raised from the ground—catching glimpses of the fire’s aftermath in her peripheral—that proved to be more difficult. One foot dragged lamely behind her, a dull throbbing pain in her upper thigh.

She glanced at her leg, utterly horrified to see a large gash stretching from one side of her thigh to the over. It didn’t even seem real. The burns had been washed away from the Outsider’s touch, leaving behind skin that seemed almost _too_ unblemished. Still, the surface wounds remained. They stung every time she moved but it was the wound on her thigh that hurt the most.

She limped past civilians scrambling to pick up the pieces left behind by the fire. They did not seem scarred, or even horrified. Rather, their sluggish movements were closer to being exhausted. She understand entirely. With all that had occurred in this dreadful, cursed world, this seemed like nothing more than a dream. They were living from one day to the next, barely managing to scrape by. She rubbed at her eyes, the heel of her palm coming back black.

“Emily?”

The Empress spun round, barely having the time to react before a large object taller than she was ran straight into her. Arms wrapped around her, a hand pressing her head into a shoulder.

“I thought you were dead,” Elizabeth said, half in tears. “We could not find you.” She held Emily out at arm’s length, wiping away soot from her cheek. Tear tracks had cut their way through the ash on Elizabeth’s own face, leaving behind light grey lines that ran the length of her features. Emily did not know if they were tears born of the smoke that still curled its way up into the sky, or simply from joy. “We thought you were dead.”

“Surprise?” she said in a gravelly voice that didn’t sound familiar in any way shape or form. She coughed, trying to clear her lungs to no avail. She glanced over Elizabeth’s shoulder at Daud who stood several feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Miss me?”

He rolled his eyes but closed the distance to pat Emily on the back. “If you’d like to think so.”

“Oh, get in here,” Elizabeth said, reaching behind her to tug Daud into her embrace. She only let them go after five seconds, grinning from ear to ear.

“What happened?” Emily asked, stepping away the instant she could, wetting her lips. “How long was I—?”

“Busy sucking up to the Outsider?” Daud finished.

She shot him a glare before looking to Elizabeth. “How long was I gone?” she repeated, finishing the sentence Daud had oh-so-rudely interrupted. She despised the fact that he was not—entirely—wrong. Daud, for all his failings and vulgarity, was a remarkably well-educated man, as she had discovered. It almost irked her. Despite how she was, rather begrudgingly, starting to move past his previous mistakes, she was still searching for a flaw in him that she could extort. So far, she had found none.

“Three hours,” she answered. “Time’s wasting. We need to get going. I would thoroughly like you to recover from this, Emily, but we hardly have the time.”

“I know,” she said, fully understanding that no moment of weakness would allow them to deter from their path. This was something she would have to endure, regardless of whatever pain she was in. She took out her handkerchief, tying it around her upper leg to stem the bleeding.

This was the end of whatever peace they had found. The fire had marked the start of the very end, and something in the back of Emily’s mind said that a roaring, raging flame would be the least of their concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Look, see, the last line of the previous chapter was foreshadowing, look at me, wow, I'm so clever.~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I've officially decided that As Above is getting a sequel because while this is _technically_ angst with a happy ending, there's still a lot that will need to be resolved with how I'm ending this, and my idea of a "happy ending" may be a bit darker than most. I wasn't quite certain if I was going to write a sequel, mostly because this is going to be well over a hundred thousand words (I just finished writing Chapter Thirty and we at least have another ten, each being a minimum of two thousand words, not to mention the epilogue, etc., etc.) but the ending's finally been set up and there's no way in hell am I letting As Above end like that, so I'll keep you updated on how As Above 2 ~~which is probably getting called So Below tbh~~ is going as we progress  <3


	27. A Mystical Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"No knife could frighten those whose skin is made of bone. No reign could shake a heart which is loyal to a man with midnight eyes. And no magic could scare those who are hewn from the same cloth."_

The tavern was far too busy for a town that had endured a tragedy not several hours prior, or for this early in the morn for that matter. Someone cried in the corner, wails that scratched and clawed at Emily’s ears, their anguish all but lost in the clatter of glasses, and chatter of guests. Patrons gathered around long wooden tables, pouring over mugs of ale, smoke curling from their cigars, far kinder than the smoke that could still be found outside; all soft greys, and gentle curves that drifted up towards the ceiling, and illuminated only by the flickering oil lamps. There were hardly two people who looked similar in features, but they all shared one trait in common: they all looked a lot older than they most certainly were. Their faces were lined with tributaries that had been carved into their skin from exhaustion born of years spent in a cruel and unkind environment. Shoulders sagged from bearing the weight of the world for decades, their strength so lacking that pushing them back would have been a momentous task.

Wooden beams criss-crossed in a grid above Emily’s head, curving and dipping under the uneven ceiling. She ducked under a low hanging one, narrowly avoiding getting hit directly in the forehead. All the bars Emily had visited had been the finest establishments, with chairs tufted with silk upholstery, and intricate relief depictions had been engraved into shining mahogany pillars that supported the towering, arched ceiling. This, however, could not be described as anything but a den of debauchery.

It was a haven for heathens, containing all that the Abbey vehemently denounced. Coin changed hands so quickly that they rarely touched the table, gamblers’ confidence only boosted by the drinks they had so readily consumed. Furniture looked as though it had been pulled from a battlefield, cracked with bullet holes, and lining worn away—if it even had lining, that was. Most chairs had stuffing spilling out of the cushions, or were entirely made of wood. Women wearing little more than corset and bustle made their way through the crowd, their fingers lingering a moment too long on the shoulders of those they passed. This was High Overseer Borden’s living nightmare, and Emily had to admit, she was _relishing_ her time here.

“You look like someone who could use a fun time,” crooned a courtesan, running one long fingernail painted crimson down from Emily’s shoulder to her sternum. Heavy lidded brown eyes met Emily’s, blown black with an emotion she was starting to share. “Not the kind of folk we usually get down here.”

“Y-yes, well,” Emily stammered, coughing. She glanced around for assistance from one of her two companions, only to discover Daud leaning against the bar, mug in hand—which he raised towards her with a mocking wink. Elizabeth was just about as useless, too engrossed in her fervent conversation with the barkeep to help. None of Emily’s training had prepared her for this, nor had any amount of nights spent with Wyman. “I’m not—I’m not usual folk at all.”

“Oh, really?” the courtesan said, arching a dark brow that contrasted starkly against her white-blonde hair. “The name’s Dusana, what’s yours?”

“E-Emily.” She choked on her words, and had to force herself to keep from giving her full name. Rumours of the Empress being attended to by a Tyvian courtesan would spread like wildfire. Her reputation had taken many dents, particularly in the aftermath of Delilah, and she would surely be able to suffer through such a rumour but explaining what she had been _truly_ doing to Corvo sounded like a nightmare.

Particularly since she knew he’d argue that what she’d been doing was Dusana herself.

“I think you need a drink,” Dusana said, pushing Emily into a nearby empty chair, towering over the Empress in her heels. “Or something to get you relaxed, perhaps?”

“I…I am truly fine, thank you.” The blush that had made its way onto Emily’s cheeks was too red to anything but unhealthy. Yes, perhaps she was ill, and then she would _have_ to leave Emily alone. It wasn’t…entirely…that Emily wanted her to leave but business came before anything else, and with their time constraint, she did not have the time to indulge herself. Though she supposed she had a few moments to spare while Elizabeth finished talking…

“I’m afraid, Emily—” By the stars, her name sounded like heaven on her lips, “—I’m not letting you go anywhere until you are… _satisfied_ ,” Dusana said with a wicked smile.

“Oh, give it a _rest_ , Dusana,” said a different woman, pushing the red-corseted woman to the side with such force that she stumbled, nearly falling into a nearby customer. This newcomer cast her startlingly green eyes down at the woman sitting in the chair across from Emily, too preoccupied in her drink to notice what was going on. “ _Move_.”

There wasn’t so much as a moment of hesitation before the woman scrambled to flee, eyes wide with terror.

“There is no need to introduce yourself,” said the woman. “I know who you are, and introductions will do little but draw attention to you.”

She frowned, not entirely certain as to how to react. The woman was quite slim but not in the same lean way that the courtesans were. They selectively tried to hone parts of their body to enhance their _assets_ , but she was wrought of muscle as though she had spent her entire life fighting just to get by, and the world had hardened her as a result. She lacked what seemed to be the traditional attire, favouring instead a leather under-bust corset over a loose fitting black tunic that fell over a pair of tight black leather breeches. A pair of long gloves covered her arms from fingertips to elbows. Her gaze was sharp as diamonds, eyes permanently narrowed, and seemed to glow green in contrast to the heavy black kohl smeared across and under her lids. A head full of black coils glinted blue in the light of lamp between them. Thick, full lips curled into a wry smile as she leaned back into her stained, cotton-upholstered armchair, hands clasped behind her head. She _knew_ the effect she was having on Emily that much was clear.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emily caught sight of Elizabeth suddenly freezing, mid-conversation, then rapidly starting to shake her head. She could not make out the words Elizabeth was mouthing but nothing about this boded well.

“I am afraid, then,” Emily said, slipping into the mask she so often wore at court, perfected from years of lying to serpents, “we are at a disadvantage.” She snatched a glass of red wine—or what looked to be red wine, at least—from a passing barmaid, running her finger around the rim in what she hoped looked like cool disinterest. “I hardly think that that’s fair, do you?”

“My, my,” the woman crooned, “so the tales of the Empress possessing a silver tongue turned out to be true. I confess, of all the rumours I have heard, _that_ was not one I expected to have truth in it.”

“Defying expectations, I think you will find, is a talent of mine.” She crossed her legs, her hands clasped in her lap. Authority was just as much about poise as it was about confidence, and after her encounter with Dusana, Emily was a little too shaky to effectively portray confidence. Behind her, Elizabeth venomously hissed something at Daud, her face as pale as snow. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zenaida,” she said as though she expected Emily to understand something only she knew. She cocked her head. “You do not recognise it?”

Just as Zenaida’s cool demeanour dropped in her confusion, as did Emily’s. “Should I?” she asked warily.

“You knew my father.”

Her four words made Emily’s heart stop. She knew very few people from Tyvia, and even fewer that hailed from the desolate wastelands of the northernmost reaches. Of those, there were only a handful that were old enough to bear a child. “You’re Zhukov’s daughter.” While Zenaida’s response had come out clipped, short, an explanation that required further explaining itself, Emily’s was a question and an answer wrapped into one. A statement, matched by an observation. Eloquence had been something many tutors had—tried, at least—to ingrain in Emily but any and all lessons on the matter escaped her entirely. She was reduced to nothing more than a handful of fragmented thoughts with barely enough coherence to string them together. “Why?”

The true question was clear: why had she insisted on getting Emily’s attention?

Zenaida’s lips pressed together, arched black brows raising for a split second before they furrowed together. “It was my father’s actions that resulted in my own banishment. I was…” She glanced off into the distance, not seeming to hear the chaos of the tavern they sat in. “I was in the Presidium.”

She was unable to hide her surprise. The Presidium was the ruling party in Tyvia, bowing only to the authority of the High Judges of Tyvia, and reigning monarch of the Isles. In the current case, the reigning monarch was Emily which _should_ have been reassuring but truth be told, the Presidium scared the _daylights_ out of her. Eleven men and six women, in charge of a nation that wanted very little to do with Gristol. She couldn’t count the meetings she’d been forced to sit through in an attempt to placate both the Presidium and the High Judges. She knew that corruption ran thick in Tyvia, and the High Judges certainly had the power to destroy the Isles should the Presidium ever brought a matter concerning Emily and her reign up. She couldn’t even begin to fathom the things this woman before her knew—was Tyvia truly intending on breaking ties with the Isles? Why was it that the High Judges had the authority to rule Tyvia with an iron fist? What _truly_ happened to the princes that once ruled?

The Tyvian woman fiddled with her gloves which appeared to be lined with fur from a sabre-toothed black bear, evidently distressed by Emily’s silence. “Are you going to kill me?” she asked timidly, every ounce of her self-assurance disappearing.

“No.” As far as she was aware, she wasn’t lying. She couldn’t be certain as to what Elizabeth and Daud had in mind, now that she had learned of Zenaida’s parentage. Her father had been the man responsible for killing Galia. Daud had all but raised the poor girl, and Zenaida’s father had taken away someone who had effectively been his daughter. She felt as though someone had just stabbed her in the stomach and was slowly twisting the blade. To lose a parent, as she very well knew, was difficult business but it would always be—or at the very least, _should_ always be the child who buried the parent.

Never the other way around.

Carefully, Emily took a sip of the wine, if only to draw out the conversation further. “I assume then, if you know who I am, you also know why I am here or would that be presumptuous?”

“To be presumptuous, one would have to be a certain degree of impudent,” she replied calmly, all former distress disappearing. She smiled. “Which you are not.”

“I am pleased that I have your approval,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “However, I find that you are not wholly correct. Impudent is something I may not be, but nor is patient. What do you want?” She tried to mimic Elizabeth’s articulate anger, poorly concealed threats hidden behind propriety and manners that was dictated of someone of her station. By the way Zenaida flinched, it seemed as though it was working.

“I can take you there,” she said. “To Uzhasnyy. I made certain your friend heard of me. She seems to have found me, just as I had hoped, and led you to me in the process. I was concerned she would not do what I had planned.”

“It is not Elizabeth who you should be concerned about. Do you not recognise the man she is with? Your _father_ killed his adopted daughter.”

“You do not mean—”

“The Knife of Dunwall himself,” she said with a great sense of smugness.

As though on cue, Daud disappeared, and reappeared by Emily’s side. Of all things, this did not seem to faze Zenaida though her eyes did seem to widen, and her breath hitched in her throat. “A pleasure,” Daud snarled through bared teeth as Elizabeth sidled up alongside him, hand on his shoulder, “to make your acquaintance.”

“I cannot undo my father’s mistakes,” said Zenaida, hesitating as she chose her words. One wrong slip in this crowd, and someone would have her head. They made a rather difficult audience, Emily thought, but it was an audience that few would dare try to cross. “But my assistance might be the first step towards peace. I have heard of what is coming. There are witches even here, you know, with such power that even the High Judges would rather condone heresy than test their mettle. Tell me then, why is it that these witches all fear those that stand before me now?” She glanced at Daud. “It has little to do with your abilities, I’m afraid. No knife could frighten those whose skin is made of bone.” To Emily, “No reign could shake a heart which is loyal to a man with midnight eyes.” To Elizabeth, “And no magic could scare those who are hewn from the same cloth.”

“Get to the point,” spat Daud.

“There are words you carry with you,” Zenaida said, unperturbed, “that are the same words they have heard. The end of all things. The Void will devour all the lights in the sky but not before it burns us up first. I…I would rather like to keep this from happening. Uzhasnyy was where it all began, and Uzhasnyy is where the truth shall be unveiled.”

“Why do you know how to get there?” Elizabeth asked dubiously. “It is a cursed place, I have heard. Why would you so readily volunteer?”

“I heard tales of what happened to my father after he fled the…prison camp,” she said. “As was his right, being condemned to freedom. The knife, he found in the camp, but the first place he went to after? I did not think it a coincidence, and visited once myself to try and understand why he had been so determined to go there. Instead, I found nothing but strange markings in the snow, and when I stepped closer… I woke up several hours later with no recollection of what had occurred. I should have been half-dead with hypothermia, yet I was as warm as I am now. There is something strange there, and I think that it is my…fate to discover what it is. Something drew my father there, and now something draws you there. I do not think it is a coincidence.”

“We shouldn’t trust her,” Daud sang under his breath.

Zenaida’s nostrils flared. “Trust me or not, I am the only person willing to return to that damned place. Do you not think that the Outsider is watching us now? Surely you did not think that stumbling across the daughter of a man who gave you all such pain was mere happenstance? Believe me, I care little if you do not wish to go. Personally, I feel the same way. However, I feel as though it is my _duty_ to ensure that you arrive there safely.”

Emily paused, thinking. Daud was right. They shouldn’t trust her. However, it seemed as though she was the only one who could take them to Uzhasnyy without risking dying in the Tyvian wilderness. These were foreign lands, and aside from Emily’s one visit to the High Judges in their homeland, and Elizabeth brief experience in Redmoor, they were severely underprepared for the task they were facing. Refusal, it seemed, was not an option that would bode well. However, who knew what troubles accepting her offer would bring?

She supposed that even if Zenaida had an ulterior motive—a suspicion that was starting to fade away the longer Zenaida spoke of trying to kinder to them than her father was—she would have to face three of the Outsider’s Marked head-on, with two being trained assassins. Daud certainly was looking for any chance to run his sword through her, to exact revenge by Galia’s name, and a single mistake from Zenaida would be the straw that broke the blood ox’s back. By sheer numbers alone, they had her under control. Couple that with gifts from the Void even witches could not handle…

They might as well have been harbingers of Death himself.

“How soon can you get us there?” she asked, ignoring Daud’s protests. Was there any point in going with Zenaida if they arrived at the same time? She would rather risk dying in the cold than have to hear Daud moan his complaints the entire journey if the journey still spanned five days.

“By the thirteenth, at least,” she said.

The thirteenth… It was currently the tenth of the Month of Darkness, and shaving off two whole days from their schedule… She looked to Daud and Elizabeth. They both seemed to agree that Zenaida might be their best bet, if she could truly get them to Uzhasnyy by the thirteenth, but remained silent. She realised then that this was her choice to make, not theirs. She was the one tying them all together, and she would be the one determining how they would proceed.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Emily said, pushing herself to her feet, a small whine involuntarily escaping Zenaida. She paused for effect. “Doing business with you, Zenaida. The Isles thank you for your assistance and cooperation on this matter.”

Her face lit up as she realised what Emily had done. “The pleasure,” she said, cracking a smirk at the thought of taking the trio to Uzhasnyy, “has been all mine.”


	28. Cure for My Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"She'd had enough of being that lost, sad, little girl. She was an Empress, and she would drive fear into the hearts of all those who forgot it."_

Despite Emily’s vehement protests, they decided to stay the night in Yaro. They had booked several rooms at the nearest inn, Zenaida taking one room, Daud and Elizabeth another, and leaving Emily to the last. She did not want to be there but she had to admit that her quarters were far more spacious than she had expected them to be. A modest sized bed, a vanity with a mirror mostly clouded by age, and a small adjoining bathroom with running water—which was ice-cold. Even then, she was restless. She needed to be out there, on her way to Uzhasnyy, not stuck in here. No doubt due to the Outsider’s magic running through her veins, Emily healed faster than the ordinary person. However, they did not know how severe her wounds were—particularly the gash running across her upper thigh—and wanted nothing to do with Emily fainting miles away from civilization. She understood their concerns— _Elizabeth’s_ concerns—but they had such little time to spare, why were they wasting it on her?

“They care about you.”

If the mild agony she was in hadn’t set her heart racing already, it would certainly be hammering now. She had been _dreading_ this visit. She’d known it was coming. The moments she had stolen—during which four hours had passed in the real world—had not been enough to address the thick tension between them. She did not turn from the vanity, still brushing her back with her fingers into something a little more manageable. Without proper care, it resulted in a mess of wavy black locks that stuck out in every direction. She had inherited it from Corvo, though its colour was certainly due to her mother.

The bed creaked as a new weight was set down upon it. “I confess that I knew you would make good allies but friends? I had not expected you to give your forgiveness so freely.”

“I did not,” she said tightly, “but to continue to blame the man who carried the sword rather than the man who ordered her death is a waste of time.”

“You certainly have an interesting way of looking at things,” the Outsider replied, disappearing with a whisper and reappearing at her side, just out of the corner of her eye. “You are injured.”

“I will live.” She pushed her chair out, still refusing to look at him as she shed her jacket, throwing it the corner of her room, uncertain as to where else she should put it. Her boots followed, tossed into a different corner to keep from the ice that seemed to permanently cover the leather from seeping into her silk jacket. She froze, back to the Outsider, not knowing what else to do in her attempt to avoid looking at him. She settled for straightening the scratchy sheets on the bed. It was hardly luxurious but it was on land, and her quarters in the Wale could not claim the same. She’d had enough of the ocean for now. “It is hardly,” she continued, “the most troubling thing to occur on this ever-difficult journey you have set upon me.”

“You walk a path none have walked before,” he said as though his words excused her already numerous failings.

“Is that why you’re fascinated with me?” She wasn’t certain if it was because she had suddenly turned around, forcing him to face the shallow cuts running the length of her face, a result of the shrapnel from the accident at the harbour, or if it was simply her bluntness, but her question caught him by surprise. The god blinked, and for a single moment, she could have sworn that he flinched. “Answer my question.”

“You never cared before,” he said. “The source of my interest is a mundane topic.”

“I care now,” she said. “So answer the question.”

He sighed. “Empress—”

“Answer the question, dammit!” She was half in tears. The frustration from all these dances coupled with the utter _exhaustion_ she had found herself in had left her unable to handle this anymore. She was past her breaking point. Until now, she had been keeping together by a thread, and the one person she thought she could trust had been keeping secrets from her this entire time. It was her fault, she knew that. She should never have trusted a god, let alone considered him her closest confidant. She had put her faith in a heretical god rather than in the Abbey, and this? This was her punishment.

All the secrets, all the lies were nothing more than punishment for her failings. She may have ruled her empire, making the best she could with what she had, and she may have lived up to her mother’s legacy as a ruler, but as a person? As an individual? As Emily Kaldwin, nothing more than a girl who had lost her mother? She had failed utterly. She was still the same scared little girl she had been in the days following her mother’s death, not knowing who she could turn to. Instead, she had latched onto the first person she could find. Then it had been Corvo. Now? Now it was the man with the Void-black eyes, and a sinister heart.

Her doubts, and her fears had all come crashing down on her at once, in a wave of despair that threatened to drown her. They had broken through the dam she’d repressed them behind, leaving her treading water just to stay afloat. And the Outsider was silent.

“You are being childish—” he began after a moment’s pause.

“Childish?” she hissed, cutting him off. He lapsed back into silence. “ _Childish?_ Am I not allowed to be childish, once in a while? Have you forgotten that any opportunity I had to be childish was _ripped_ from me by two people bearing your mark, and a third who was so obsessed with you, he cut his skin open just to be a facsimile of your chosen few? Sixteen years of my life, stolen by your mistakes, and you do not care. You treat this like a game, as though we only exist for your own amusement just to quell your _boredom_. You give us a power we will never understand just so you can watch us burn. Yet, I endure regardless. I excuse your past errors, and now I am risking _everything_ to save you so do me the courtesy of at _least_ answering my question, and treating me with a _meagre_ amount of decency, will you?”

He watched her outburst coolly, one dark brow raised but nothing else giving away whatever dark thoughts were going through his mind. “Are you quite finished?”

She barely had the energy to shake her head, utterly exhausted by her confession. She did not know where the words had come from, only that they were truer than anything else she had said in the past few weeks. She slid to the ground, back pressed against the foot of the bed, still shaking her head—whether in answer to his question, or simply in disbelief, she did not know. “You don’t care,” she said quietly, voice breaking. “This…this is nothing to you, isn’t it? You have to die someday after all. You just don’t want to die alone.”

That seemed to elicit a reaction, the Outsider turning his head in discomfort. It only made her laugh.

“I have given you _everything_ ,” she continued in a whisper. “My blood, my bones, my mind, my…” She shook her head again. The first tears fell. They would not be the last. “You’re fascinated with me and you have convinced yourself that this is caring but it’s not. It’s nothing more than a ghost of an emotion. Any humanity you have left died the day you did. The worst thing is, I can’t even bring myself to hate you for it. I can’t see you die. I won’t.”

“Is that what this is about?” he asked, frowning. “You want to know that I care about you so when I die, this would not have been for nothing?”

“Do not…Do not put words into my mouth.”

“You dread being alone just as much as I do, Emily Kaldwin.”

“Stop.”

“And you are just as selfish as I am for it.” She could not find the will to argue any further, not even as the Outsider took a seat beside her. “All things end,” he said lowly.

“Not you,” she replied. “Not this.”

If he did not understand what she meant by “this”—though she suspected he knew what she spoke of—he did not press. He merely glanced at his ring-covered hands, brows furrowed, and black eyes giving nothing away.

“Why did you Mark me?” she asked in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “Why…why did you choose me?”

“I never intended to,” he murmured, his honesty taking her by surprise. It was the first thing she had ever heard him say that did not hold some hidden secret that he was withholding from her. “In all the futures I saw, it was your father who took back your kingdom. You…you were an unforeseen turn of events. I was almost… _angry_ but you quickly…surprised me.” He pushed himself to the feet, just as restless as she. “Your father’s blade spared few when he rushed to save you. It was only when you were back safe in his arms that he tried to do right by you. He did not want you to make the same mistakes as he had. He did not want you to see the monster he had become. You…you tried to take the high road the _moment_ you left Dunwall Tower. I could not understand why. Was it for your mother’s sake, or yours? Your people had betrayed you, slaughtered your friends and allies, and you still spared them.” He paused. “Why?”

There was no hesitation. “It was what my mother would have done.”

He swallowed, hard. “Disappointment,” he said. “A driving force that has led to even the most unsuspecting of characters to do extraordinary things.” He let out a sigh, wetting his lips. “When it was over, when Delilah was trapped in her dream world, I expected you to return to your life of silver spoons, and banquets that few could even dream of. I expected to lose interest in you as I had with many of my Marked, once their tales were finished. Corvo heard little from me following your coronation. Daud spent years hearing nothing from me, going so far as to kneel at my shrines.” He chuckled to himself. “He grew bitter from my lack of interest, eventually. Elizabeth…Elizabeth was one of the few who kept my interest, mostly because if I disappeared for too long, she would will herself into the Void and create a ruckus until I spoke to her. Her gifts were dangerous, in hindsight. You…you tried to fix the mess your kingdom had become. You did not return to your ignorance. Your determination is incomparable. You do not fascinate me, you confuse me. And then, you made a fatal error.”

She knew what her error was before he’d even said it. “I know,” she said. “I never meant…”

“To fall in love with a god?” he finished wryly. “To let it get this far?”

She wanted to say that she could not have helped herself. Truth was, she could have, but did that mean she should have? If it were not for his continued interest in her, he would have been doomed to die with little chance of any of his Marked coming to aid him. Not to mention, it was he who had treated her not as Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, but as Emily who had watched her mother die before her. As Emily who had been undermined, underestimated, and underappreciated her entire life. As Emily who had been thought of as nothing more than a pawn in their games. As Emily who had done the best she could in a world that was not kind to little girls or empresses. As Emily who had done all she could to right by her mother and her legacy. As _Emily_ who wanted to be nothing more than the ruler her mother had wanted her to be.

Was she?

Was she the ruler her mother had wanted her to be?

It was only know that she could say with absolute certainty: no.

Her mother could never have anticipated the fate that had befallen her only daughter. She had never known, and would never know, the circumstances Emily had found herself in.

But that did not mean she had failed.

She was far more than the ruler her mother had wanted her to be. She was _better_. And the Outsider’s games? She was above them. The world may have thought of her as a pawn but beneath her armour, she carried a blade that would taste the blood of those who even so much as _thought_ that she was anything less than what she was.

“If you’re going to ask me to apologise,” said Emily, her voice shaking no longer, “I shall not. My regrets are my own, but this?” She got to her feet, meeting his eyes. “This is not something I am sorry for.”

He cracked a small smile. “I would never ask you to do something you did not wish to do,” he said, running his thumb over her cracked lower lip with mild interest. “You are a strange woman, Emily Kaldwin.”

Her head—her _heart_ was pounding so loudly that she almost didn’t hear him. “Perhaps so,” she said. “But then would I not have to be? To care for a man that is incapable of ever returning my affections?”

“It was you who made such assumptions,” he said. “I said no such thing. Why do you continue to doubt my interest?”

“I have never seen it.”

“My dearest Emily Kaldwin,” he sighed against her hair, “if I did not care about you, you would know it. It is within my dying days that I find myself returning to your side time and time again. My last moments belong to you, and you alone.” He pushed her away ever-so-slightly, if only to look at her directly. “My life—and my death—are yours.”

He had whispered seven words many days ago that she had been unable to hear. She knew, without a doubt, that he had said the same then. She almost hated that they were able to render her silent, all but stealing her breath away. Little had changed between them. They were in the same places they had been that day on the Wale but somehow, the air seemed to have changed. There was a quiet relief that had not been there before, a reassurance that no matter what occurred in the coming days, there would be a single constant even if she failed. They were still separated by time, and the world itself. He lived in one world, and she another. That would not change, and if she succeeded, it never would.

Even then, stolen moments, however brief, were still moments nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the doc I'm actually writing this all in is at ~~just about anyway~~ 80k, so looks like we're really going down this rabbit hole now. Don't really know what I was expecting, but it definitely got out of hand. Oh well~ Just so you know, it's exam season now so I'm a tad swamped so expect chapters about once a week at least, and twice at most. No more five consecutive days of updates unfortunately... As always, leave a comment if you enjoyed, and if you haven't yet done so, don't forget to drop a kudos!  <3
> 
> Also, big thanks to estora, tynnoh, superat626, tartertatra, neomonus, and anyone else I might have forgotten for their continued support!


	29. Unmoved and Weary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"She was every inch an empress now. She knew precisely what she was, and what she needed to do. The time for underestimating herself just as much so many others had was gone. Gone was the stark difference between Emily and the Empress. She was both, and she was neither. The line had blurred past the point of any recognition, and now she just...  
>  And now she just was."_

Zenaida was not one to wait around patiently. The instant dawn cracked above the horizon, she all but dragged the Outsider’s Marked out of their beds. During the night, she had gathered the supplies they would need for their three day journey to Uzhasnyy—including food, and tents—and was now standing behind Emily, watching as she groggily ate the oatmeal Elizabeth had purchased for them.

“Are you going to sit down?” growled Daud, rubbing his eyes.

 “We’re wasting time,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hurry and eat.”

Daud looked ready to kill her for ordering him around but Emily quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. “Zenaida, would you care to follow me?” she asked though her tone left little opportunity to refuse her. She pushed her mostly-full bowl to the side, too stressed by the already-high tensions to force herself to eat. Thankfully, the vitality induced by the Outsider’s magic effectively dealt with hunger as well. Just as she healed faster, and took a lot more to injure her, she was not weakened by afflictions most normal people would succumb to. This, for no apparent reason, extended to cover hunger, giving her enough stamina to survive off of nothing but apples, should she try.

Zenaida let out a little huff but followed after Emily, her black curls swinging with every movement. “What is it?” she asked as she was pulled behind the stairs.

“Do not test Daud.”

She only laughed. “He does not frighten me. He has become soft in his old age.”

Emily hardly noticed Daud’s age. To her, he seemed as old as he had been when he had killed her mother. That image of him would never disappear, she knew that, but it was because of this she did not mistake his age for weakness. His hair was stricken with grey, more white than black, and the wrinkles marring his skin were more prominent than his jagged scar running from brown to the corner of his lip, _yes_ , but the danger within him had not faded. He had stayed his blade in his regret and shame, but now that Emily had forgiven him as much as she was capable? He owed her little, now. Little that he could give her, anyway. She was still short a mother. However, this meant that there was nothing holding him back. Elizabeth did little but encourage his behaviour, determined to support him regardless, and would most certainly use her talents to dispose of anyone who went after him. They were a dangerous couple, each in their own way, and treating them as anything but such was folly.

“You are frightened of me though, no?” she said, brow arched. “That’s why you asked me if I would kill you, because you know that despite all my mercy, I was entirely capable of doing such a thing.”

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“I am just as much a liar as I am merciful,” she said, channelling all her years in the royal court to drive fear into the fearless woman’s heart. “My word can be revoked as easily as it is given. Do not test my patience, and you and I will get along fine. You are a clever woman, Zenaida, but do not forget that I am not a trusting woman. Prove to me your loyalty, and you will find my gratitude has many benefits. If not… I may keep my word and not kill you myself, but there are two others who would be more than happy to do so. Do we have an agreement?”

“I do not think you are giving me much of a choice.” Zenaida’s teeth were gritted, clearly displeased that Emily, the Empress that much of Tyvia did not recognise, was issue commands. She was a proud woman, Emily could tell, and being impeached from the Presidium for her father’s attempt on the Empress’ life had done little to appease her. If anything, it had done nothing but made her even more proud, fuelled by bitterness.

“You would be correct,” she said, “but I would rather like it if you were cooperative.”

“I see why, now, there are few who doubt your authority following your aunt’s failed attempt at a coup,” Zenaida responded thoughtfully.

“She did not fail to throw a coup,” said Emily, “but she failed to understand what is required of a ruler to effectively lead an empire into a new age. She was a selfish woman, who refused to give any part of her away for the sake of her people. I have nothing left. My body, my soul belongs to my Empire.”

“And your heart?”

“I said my body, no?” Emily said, cursing her momentary lapse in composure. “So? Do we have an agreement?”

She nodded, still thinking. “Does the Abbey know?” she asked suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

She jerked her head down to Emily’s left hand, mouth set in a line. “Does the Abbey know that the Empress is the greatest heretic of all?”

“Are you _blackmailing_ me?”

“I would never,” she said in a tone that said the distinct opposite. “I was merely curious.”

“The Empress’ actions are not for the Abbey to question.” Dread was starting to gnaw at Emily’s insides. Zenaida was just as manipulative, just as dangerous as her father was. She was not to be underestimated. However, Emily was more than an equal opponent. They were using each other, that much was clear. Zenaida, to prove to the Presidium that she was loyal to the crown and was therefore a capable member of the council. Emily, to save the Outsider, and prevent their world from falling into ruin. The intricacies of court was _far_ less complicated than this was surely going to be. “Nor,” she continued after a pause, “are they for you to question. Had you retained your title, perhaps, but in this state? You are nothing more than a civilian, Zenaida. Remember that.”

The woman _flinched_. Her jab had been low, certainly, but it had made her point. Right now, Zenaida was little more than an ordinary citizen. Emily was the one who held all the power, even if she depended on Zenaida to ensure that she kept it. In another life, Emily certainly would have been close with Zenaida. She was clever, witty, and a smile that could make even the most devout Overseer weep, but Emily was an empress, even if she didn’t want to be. She couldn’t forget that, and as long as the throne bore the Kaldwin name, she would not be undermined.

She’d had enough of being that lost, sad little girl.

She was an Empress, and she would drive fear into the hearts of all those who forgot it.

When Emily walked away from Zenaida, any and all of her self-doubt had disappeared. She was every inch an empress now. She knew precisely what she was, and what she needed to do. The time for underestimating herself just as much so many others had was gone. Gone was the stark difference between Emily and the Empress. She was both, and she was neither. The line had blurred past the point of any recognition, and now she just…

And now she just _was_.

They left Yaro within the hour.

It was as dark as night, even in the day, and ash from the previous night’s fire had stained the white snow charcoal. Exhaustion weighed each of them down in a different way. Daud did not seem to have the energy to care, it seemed. He trudged along in complete silence, his sword swinging from his waist, and his hands in his pockets. Elizabeth did the same, casting her suspicious eyes upon anyone who dared to look her way from underneath her large, dark blue hood. Emily was uncertain as to where they were going, too caught up in her own thoughts to pay attention as the city gave way to bare, stripped trees, and then to endless expanses of white, fresh snow.

The snowshoes Elizabeth had purchased kept them many inches above the ground, each step only pressing into the snow ever-so-slightly. In the dim blue light of the sky, their tracks were the only thing visible. There were no signs of life, no trees, no animals, nothing but the cloudy grey sky, and the indent they were making on their surroundings. Minutes, perhaps hours, crept by; there was no way to tell. She did not even know if any life slept under this heavy blanket of snow. In Gristol, the snow would give way to fields of green come the Month of Seeds. Here, in this endless winter, there was _nothing_.

Everything looked the same in this dull wash of pale grey-blue. They might have been walking in the Void, for all she knew. None of this seemed to end. It was as though someone had created the world, and then had simply become _bored_ as they had come out here. The world had all but faded away in this ghost of reality.  The cold wormed its way into Emily’s very bones. It writhed and bit like a caged serpent, nipping at her skin until it was pink and inflamed. Eventually, she grew so numb to it that the stinging pain felt like fire.

Whenever she looked back over her shoulder, all she saw was the path they had carved into the landscape, slowly being blown away by the gentle, yet frigid, breeze. This was the stark opposite of Karnaca. The Red Jewel of the South bustled with life, every way she looked draped with bright, gaudy colours, and privacy could not be achieved with the ever-present population. It was only in the darkest, deepest corners of the city could a moment of silence be achieved but even then, the familiar snapping wings of bloodflies could surely be heard from a room overhead. This nameless stretch of land, perpetually stuck in the Month of Ice, held no signs of, well, _anything_ besides the four of them. It was all white upon white upon white upon white. The only sounds were those of their feet sinking into the snowy tundra, the rustling of their clothes as they walked until the concept of stopping seemed far away, and the whisper of the wind. It was as though all the life had been stolen from here and transplanted in Karnaca.

Even then, the wasteland held a cool quietude to it that still kept her interest. The rise and fall of the swelling mounds of snow, and the shards of glass-like crystals spraying into the air at the lightest touch of wind, and the _success_ that came with carving their way through a desolate expanse that had the capacity to kill them.

Zenaida never seemed to once stop walking. Emily and Daud both struggled with their snowshoes, stumbling every so often with the ground threatening to envelop them in its cold embrace for eternity. The Tyvian native, however, had grown up in this harsh climate, and did not stop for her three companions, no matter how much they were struggling to keep up with her.

Which was what made it all the more startling when she came to a sudden stop, snapping the lid of her compass shut. “We camp here for the night,” she said, discarding her pack on the ground, and already starting to set up.

Emily barely had the strength in her to remove her bag let alone hitch a tent. Every part of her _hurt_. They had been instructed to drink as much as they could while walking but food seemed like all but a foreign concept. Her stomach, so empty, pained to even _think_ about eating. She did not know how Elizabeth and Daud—both twice her age—were coping.

The gruel Zenaida served held little flavour, and was nearly as thin as water with few hastily chopped vegetables suspended in it. Even then, she was unable to stop herself from scarfing it all down in great big gulps in a desperate attempt to soothe the beast-like growls from her stomach. Daud on the other hand sipped at the broth without making a noise, his self-control greater than hers. She wondered for a moment how he wasn’t starving before remembering that he had grown up on the streets of Karnaca. A day without food was nothing to him. He caught her wide-eyed gaze with a wry smile, raising his brows as though to ask if she had a question of him.

She couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine what his childhood had been like compared to hers.

Imagining Daud’s parents seemed impossible. To her, he simply _existed_ , outside of any normal conventions. Humanity was something she did not expect of him, and parents… Emily, for all the difficulties she’d faced during her childhood, had possessed a few good years with both Corvo and Jessamine. Daud had… It occurred to her then that she did not know how Daud had spent his childhood. He had been a part of her for over half of her life now, and she knew very little about him.

She retired early that night, and the next morning, they repeated everything they’d done again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you've noticed, I've added names to all the chapters, mostly because I am running them by people, and it's a bit difficult to be referring to one of forty chapters. Anyway, keep an eye out for Daud and Elizabeth's story which will start being posted in the next couple weeks, and will be called _Ego Homini Lupus_ , and it's set one month after Jessamine's death. I'm going to _try_ and do art for several of the chapters to because it's practice.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think, and if you think you've started to figure this mystery out. Can't say I'll confirm or deny anything, but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3


	30. Whisper Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"They took the magic from my bones, and they left. I will take it back with ash and blood, and your precious little Dunwall will fall to ice and flame."_

Hours upon hours spent marching through the icy wilderness was just as fun as it sounded.

Which was, to say, not fun at all.

Zenaida had handed out tinted to glasses to prevent snow blindness two hours into the second day’s trek—a condition that came as a result of having the low light reflect off the snow and into one’s eyes. Emily supposed that Zenaida was trying to be kind, instead of using their ignorance to watch them suffer, but the forceful nature in which the Tyvian gave them aid was too brusque to be considered helpful.

As they got closer and closer to Uzhasnyy, dread began to gnaw at Emily’s stomach. It grew until she was almost nauseous, and paired with the strange hollowness in her chest that could be described as nothing more than longing—though for what, she was uncertain—she almost wanted to double over, and give up entirely.

By the end of the second day, Emily was stumbling along in a daze, barely able to keep her head upright. This journey was taking a greater toll on Emily than she had anticipated. Hours of hiking through the tundra sapping the energy from her bones.

When she fell into her sleeping roll several hours later, she passed out the instant her head touched her frost-touched pillow but rest was not something she found that night.

The Void was darker than it had ever been; black as night and no trace of that familiar indigo glow to be seen. Ash covered the stone underfoot, and black webbing stretched across the sky as though someone had filled in cracks in glass with tar. Not even when she had met Delilah in this netherworld had the Void been this broken. Was this why the Outsider had insisted on visiting her, and not the other way around?

The Outsider.

He was nowhere to be seen, and not even the now-familiar scent of gunpowder that seemed to follow him everywhere marked the air. She ducked around a net of black ink, surprised to discover that it flexed and gave under her touch, not nearly as brittle as its appearance might have suggested. Something brushed past her with unnerving familiarity, an ancient hunger all but palpable.

She spun around, drawing her sword against her invisible foe. “Who’s there?” she all but declared. “Show yourself before I run you through.” Her threat did nothing but amuse the presence, circling her, and coming to a stop mere inches away from the nape of her neck.

 _Emily Kaldwin_ , it hissed in a voice neither female nor male. _How you’ve grown._

She turned again, only to be met with thin air and laughter that faded into the wind. It materialised behind her once again, undeterred by her efforts. “Who are you?” she said. “What do you want?”

 _Questions upon questions upon questions…Have you not been paying attention?_ Wind brushed around her ankles as it curled around them before encircling her waist, the weight of arms pressing against her form. _They tried to devour me. I did not let them._

“Who tried?” she asked, struggling to keep her composure as fingertips danced over her jugular.

 _The Void_. It was the only answer Emily had received so far, and the bitterness behind the two words she had been given was clear. Whoever this discordant spirit was, it had been unable to find peace in the Void, and had been left to cause chaos. Was it the source of the Outsider’s waning of power? The instant the thought crossed her mind, the fingertips that had been doing nothing but gently tapping at her throat constricted, cutting off her air in a split second. _The Outsider is weak. His time is passed._

She clawed at her own throat, unable to pry off whatever phantom hand was choking her.

 _They took my power,_ crooned the voice. _They took the magic from my bones, and they left. I will take it back with ash and blood, and your precious little Dunwall will fall to ice and flame._

It let her go so suddenly that Emily was thrown to the ground, clutching at her neck as she gasped for air. Through her thudding heart, she heard it pace circles around her, footsteps stirring up the ash that had fallen.

“What are you doing?” she said hoarsely. “Where are you going with this?”

 _You think you are important in this, don’t you?_ It laughed. _You were dragged into this because of the Outsider’s…fondness for you. You are…irrelevant._

“Unfortunately for you,” she said, pushing herself to her feet with a grimace, purple marks already blossoming across her skin. She coughed, still choking. “Unfortunately for you, you have hurt a good friend of mine. I will not let that slide.”

It howled, a great big gust of wind shrieking and tearing through the thin black webs as it knocked her to the ground. _I WILL NOT BE STOPPED. I FOLLOWED THEM TO THE ENDS OF THE WORLD, AND THIS IS MY END? THIS WILL NOT BE MY END. THISWILLNOTBEMYENDTHISWILLNOTBEMYENDTHISWILLNOTBEMYEND—_

All of a sudden it was torn away, or perhaps it had simply fled in its fury, leaving Emily alone in the fractured Void.

And for the first time in weeks, her head had stopped spinning.

Things were falling into place with unusual clarity, and she was uncertain if this was better or worse than remaining ignorant. This foe, this strange foe that walked half in the Void and half in reality was far more powerful than she could have expected. They did not possess Delilah’s talents for manipulation, or the Lord Regent’s network of corrupt soldiers, but they held a fiery thirst for vengeance that would burn through anyone that stood in their way.

In all her life, she had only met one person who was so bitter about their past.

It had been presumptuous to assume that they were dead, especially having never seen the body herself but the magic the Outsider’s knife held was far from trivial, and who knew what extended close proximity with it would do to a person. She could taste the black magic in the Void, now that she knew it was here; ozone had been replaced by acrid smoke, bitter chemicals coating her tongue.

Zhukov was back.

She did not want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. She had suspected it since she discovered that the knife was integral to all of this, a dark, hidden place in the corner of her heart full of doubt, but she had not ever expected any of this to be true. How could she face him again? She had nearly died last time, and while she now bore the Outsider’s Mark, if he was still alive—though nothing more than a shade of his former self—his power was beyond hers.

Her gifts were far from aggressive, meant to control a situation rather than dispose of the conflict entirely. Her father… Her father had always been the one with the lethal gifts. She had Daud and Elizabeth now, both trained killers but would that be enough? Could they face him and win?

Even for a woman who had faced Delilah and won, this seemed like an impossibly daunting task. Delilah, however powerful, had been a tangible foe, and if Zhukov’s demonstration a moment earlier proved nothing, he had ascended from such mortal trivialities as corporealness. She could not touch him let alone harm him so what was she to do but wait passively, and watch him burn the world down?

He had been betrayed by those he had once trusted, heralded as the champion of Tyvia, only to be thrown aside when he was no longer needed. His bitterness was unparalleled, and he would stop at nothing to see the High Judges suffer, even if he had to destroy the world in the process.

Was this what the Outsider was to die for? Vengeance? Had it been a noble cause, had it been natural, perhaps Emily could have let him go. Perhaps she could have watched him fade away, and suffer through her own regret and shame knowing that this was how it was meant to be.

But she would not let him die for Zhukov.

The Tyvian hero did not deserve the Outsider’s powers, did not deserve the Outsider’s favour, did not _deserve_ the Outsider himself. It was why he, in a desperate plea for attention, had carved the Outsider’s Mark into the back of his hand with that cursed knife, knowing that he would not get the Outsider’s gifts in any other way.

He was a fool.

And Emily would stop him.

Her pacifism would not extend to those like Zhukov: cruel for cruelty’ sake. Mercy would be shown to those deserving, and those who could change but she would exact justice with the authority only one blessed by a god could possess. She would watch him bleed, watch him die at the end of her blade, and there was simply no other choice.

He did not deserve to live, and Emily would ensure that he did not take away from her that which had become so dear.

She would kill him so the Outsider could live.

It went against _everything_ she had ever stood for but her heart had long since been touched by darkness, and surely she could indulge it once without facing repercussions? For years now she had done what was proper, walked the right path, straying for _one moment_ should not have consequences.

She looked around her, shoulders sagging. The Void was falling apart right before her eyes, and not even the Outsider could do anything to fix it. It was slipping straight through his fingers, leaving him vulnerable as his kingdom was stolen from straight under his nose. She knew what that felt like. She knew the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that he had to be experiencing, and she would do _anything_ to keep anyone from feeling that ever again.

Even if that meant abolishing her morals entirely.

It made her a hypocrite, and she knew that, that she would sacrifice everything she had ever stood for all for what? A god she was not supposed to believe in? She tried to convince herself that she couldn’t help it—hat she couldn’t help but believe in him given that she had met him, but did that explain why she was so willing to put everything on the line for him?

She wrapped an arm around the opposite shoulder, hand resting on her throat. The pain had permeated her entirely, the adrenaline from coming face to face with her foe disappearing entirely. She knew that the next time she looked in the mirror she would find a field of flowers both purple and blue smattering across her pale, freckled neck. It would not be the worst injury she had ever faced but it was far too intimate for her liking. There was something personal about a non-lethal injury, inflicted only to intimidate and little else.

She would have preferred being stabbed, truth be told.

Quietly, she let out a sigh, lying down on the ground with her hands clasped over her stomach. Even with the destruction that was now plaguing the Void, there was still an air of peace in this place that had now become familiar. It was tainted, yes, but with Dunwall so far away, this was the closest place to home she had.

The next morning, they continued on the last stretch of their journey, and by noon, they had arrived. Uzhasnyy was not an impressive village, though Emily confessed she didn’t expect it to be.

It was been founded by Pandyssian refugees, seeking shelter from the Outsider’s wrath for the grievous crimes they had committed. Uzhasnyy was nothing more than a couple of shacks nestled on a clifftop by the sea. Waves crashed and died against the rocks below, throwing themselves to their dooms like sailors charmed by siren. The wind rose and fell with enough strength to tear down trees but speaking in nothing more than a whisper.

The houses themselves were ramshackle, at best. Four thousand years had passed, and the settlement still looked as though it had been constructed yesterday. Basic wooden cabins made of stacked logs circled a central courtyard that held nothing but a large pyre twice as tall as Emily, the wood blanketed with snow.

“Where is everyone?” Elizabeth wondered aloud, removing her glasses.

True enough, there were no footprints in the snow, save for their own, and the white that lined the porches showed no signs of any doors having been opened since the last snowfall.

“I don’t like this,” Daud said, reaching for his sword. “Keep an eye out—”

“That will not be necessary,” said a voice from behind them.

Zenaida, Emily, Elizabeth, and Daud all turned to see a vaguely female figure wrapped in many layers, her face obscured by a thick scarf. Emily, for a moment, was amazed that this woman had managed to sneak up on them—on Daud, in particular—but that was when she realised that no footprints surrounded the woman. Perhaps it was the Outsider but something told Emily that this woman was not dangerous. Behind her own glass goggles, the woman cast her gaze to the Empress. “Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, we have been waiting a long time for your arrival.”

We? No one else seemed to be here. Emily ground her teeth, confused. “Why?”

“The same reason you are here now,” she said, “to see how the world will end: consumed by the Void or by your hands as you attempt to save it. Come. Let us get out of the cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is something wrong with this chapter, and I'm not going to tell you what it is. All I'm going to say is, we _are_ rapidly approaching the end of As Above but we still have around ten chapters left so all I'm saying is...don't think that things are going to be as easy as I'm making them out to be. Don't trust anything, or anyone. ~~Particularly not if the author likes messing with your heads, BUT THAT'S ALL I'M GOING TO SAY ABOUT THAT.~~


	31. Mostly Flesh and Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"She realised what it was that was wrong. She couldn't feel the Void."_

The woman’s name was Yelena, and her family could be traced directly back to the woman who had married one of the cultists that sacrificed the Outsider. She explained, as they shed their coats and packs, strewing them across Yelena’s surprisingly spacious cabin, that most of the resident of Uzhasnyy had long since fled to the separate corners of the world. Many of them had been cursed, or at least believed that they had been, with misfortune befalling them at every turn.

Yelena was the only one to stay, fuelled by the knowledge that one day, one of the Outsider’s chosen would come to try and right her ancestor’s wrongs.

Zenaida, strangely, seemed surprised by Uzhasnyy’s lack of population which did nothing but concern Emily.

“So they’re just…” Emily said, watching as Yelena shrugged off her thick coat, setting it down over the back of a nearby chair.

“Gone,” finished the older woman, pulling her greying hair over her shoulder. Tyvia’s native tongue had not been spoken in years but traces of it was still tangible this far up north, and Emily could hear it in Yelena’s voice. Daud and her father had the same problem, Corvo particularly when he’d had too much to drink. She waved flippantly, “Lost.”

“Dead, you mean?” Daud’s voice held no trace of amusement.

Yelena turned her beady black eyes to the Knife of Dunwall. “Dead things can still be found. I know what I said, _boy_.”

Elizabeth bit back a laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She fell into an armchair, kicking her shoes off by the fire. Emily couldn’t help but smile herself, grateful for this short little moment of pleasantness after their journey had been little more than one misfortune after another. She felt bad for Yelena, she had to admit, but the older woman seemed to be taking her isolation with stride. She was the last of the Uzhasnyy’s residents but she did not seem to be bitter but about any of this. If anything, she seemed lonely. Her friends, her family, they were all gone, either scared off by, or dead because of the Outsider’s curse. She was here only to fix her ancestors’ mistakes.

And Emily respected her for it.

Yelena poured her four visitors a cup of dark green tea from Wei-Ghon, the steam curling into the air. Emily took it gratefully, the warmth seeping into her hands. There was something unsettling about this woman. Perhaps it was because her personality conflicted so drastically with her personality. She had the air of someone who had aged gracefully, her silver hair carefully maintained despite Tyvia’s biting winds, and her skin—while crossed with lines—was clearer than Emily’s. In her defence, she had inherited her mother’s moles, and they dotted her skin like black stars against a white sky. Yelena’s soft demeanour aside, there was a darkness in her black eyes that sent shivers down her spine, and she walked with a confidence that only came with being _absolutely certain_ about one’s actions.

Not even Emily could claim such a thing.

Emily wouldn’t not have said that she was particularly plagued by self-consciousness rather than doubt. Being Empress—naturally—was a difficult task that resulted in every decision being criticised and possibly even being condemned. If Emily wasn’t wary as to how her decision would be received, then it wasn’t a decision worth making.

Perhaps that was why Yelena seemed so…off. Zenaida had made it clear that she was here because she had to be. Yelena almost seemed to be keeping a secret, and that made Emily very, _very_ nervous.

She decided then not to drink the tea, and it seemed as though Elizabeth and Daud had the same idea. They all pretended to sip from their respective cups, flashing Yelena a polite smile. Seemed as though they all shared the same mentality. Zenaida, on the other hand, finished half of her tea in one go.

“The Outsider is a mysterious creature,” said Yelena, not seeming to notice how tense her visitors were, “but I have seen the signs. The veil between the Void and this world is tearing. Spirits who should have remained at rest now walk, and spirits who should be walking are now at rest. The rules no longer apply. Everything that we think we know is now false. Things are not as they seem.” Her eyes met Emily’s. “Fire’s burning in water.”

 Behind Yelena, Elizabeth gulped.

“You said,” began Emily, running a finger around the rim of her cup, “that you wanted to see how the world will end: consumed by the Void or by my hands. What did you mean?”

“You walk with the heart of a god in your hands,” she said. “How can you be certain it is not you that is killing him?”

The idea seemed impossible. In Emily’s mind, it was. Nothing she had done had the potential to be lethal, as far as she was aware anyway. What had she done besides indulge herself for a mere moment? Granted, it was currently the very thing on the forefront of her mind—even more so than the return of Zhukov himself—but forcing the Outsider to show a little humanity could not possibly kill him.

Could it?

“Because I believe I know who is,” Emily said, none of her doubt showing. “The Hero of Tyvia. _Zhukov_.” She expected this revelation to cause a few frowns, particularly from Zenaida, but to Emily’s surprise it was the Tyvian that did not react to this information. She remained silent, hands tightly gripping her cup of tea, and her green eyes downcast. Daud, as she had expected, cursed while Elizabeth hid her face in her hands. Emily’s lips pursed for a moment before looking back at Yelena. “Do you know of him?”

“He was a cursed man,” she scowled. “He came here once, many years ago.” She grappled with the scarf around her neck for a brief moment before revealing a knobbly scar that stretched from one side of her neck to the other. “He thought I knew how to make him a god.”

Emily felt as though she had just eaten sand, her mouth was so dry. She knew that Zhukov was a crazed maniac but she hadn’t expected him to try to kill someone for a taste of power. She supposed that was how it would always be—those who wanted power would always try to get it atop a mountain of corpses. “Do you?”

Yelena laughed darkly. “Perhaps but if I did, I would not have made him one. There are…requirements that must be fulfilled. Born in the Month of Darkness being the key one. Pandyssian blood is…advised. Zhukov did not meet these requirements, and I could grant him no power.” She snorted. “Not that I would have even if he had. I am plagued by one curse. Two would be…less than ideal.”

Zenaida coughed, uncomfortable, as Yelena shot her a sharp glare.

“If you know what can make a god,” Elizabeth said, rubbing at her own silver lines that marked her neck and shoulders, and trying in part to keep Yelena’s attention from Zhukov’s kin, “then you must also know what can unmake one.”

“Are you concerned about your master?” Yelena said rather derisively. “There was a time, Elizabeth Bushford, where you would not have cared. I know your type. Nobles who catch a glimpse of horror and are so scarred, that they do what they can to change the world for the better. You could not _begin_ to imagine some of the things I have seen.”

“People change,” she said tightly, bristling at her words. “A lifetime of trying and failing to do the right thing is better than not trying and still failing.”

“Wise words for a woman who rarely fails.” Yelena tugged her scarf back over her scars. “However, there are many ways that a god could die. He could fade away with time. He could abdicate, be reclaimed by the Void… Or he could be killed. I doubt that the last is possible. It would be impossible to kill him as they would have to replace his position. The only time the Void can go without a representation of itself is if they cease to exist. Anyone who would want to kill him would have to have the potential to be the Outsider themselves.”

“I was born in the Month of Rain,” Emily said before anyone could point a finger at her.

“Month of Ice,” Daud muttered.

Elizabeth arched a brow as she found everyone looking at her. “Month of Clans.”

“Month of High Cold,” sighed Zenaida. “It seems as though it cannot be any of us present.”

A familiar itch began on the back of Emily’s hand though she couldn’t figure out why. She only knew that something was very, very, _very_ wrong. She could have sworn that her Mark was glowing, albeit it faintly, though Elizabeth and Daud did not seem to be having the same problem. She scratched it absentmindedly, trying to alleviate her suffering but to no avail. When the others began to notice—the scratching becoming more and more frantic—she settled for clasping her left hand in her right. It felt like it was burning now, a searing hot pain flooding through her body. She couldn’t hear what Yelena was saying, only knowing that her lips were moving before the older woman _yanked_ her hands apart to reveal her Mark.

Which was glowing a bright, angry red.

Whenever Emily used her powers—which didn’t seem to be all that often nowadays—it tended to be accompanied by the feeling of needles dancing across her skin as though electricity ran through her veins which only intensified the more she used her powers until she fainted altogether. This was nothing like that. It was as though someone had tried to slice the Mark from her skin, carving it out with a razor-thin knife that left Emily seeing spots in her vision. Distantly, she was aware of two people trying to get her to her feet—though for what reason, she wasn’t entirely certain—but it was like trying to move through molasses. Her limbs weighed as much as lead and refused to cooperate, and the instant she got to her feet, she found herself lying on the floor. She heard cries of pure agony, and it took her a moment to realise that they were hers. Her mind was blanketed in the same fog that had settled over her kingdom.

And then, all at once, it was gone.

Any weight that had been on her chest disappeared in a split second, leaving her empty, and nothing but a shell of what she was before. She did not know if this was much better. The agony had been, well, agonising but it had given her something to hold on to, and now…Now there was nothing.

Her Mark had dulled back to its usual black, and there was an ache in the bones from the ghost of the pain she’d been moments prior. Her chest heaved as she panted for breath, and as she struggled to call upon the Void for strength, she realised what it was that was wrong.

She couldn’t feel the Void.

Usually it hummed under her skin, waiting to be called upon, and it had become so familiar that she’d almost forgotten that it was there. Perhaps that was what made its absence that much more painful. She’d mocked Corvo for being so distraught following Delilah’s coup, obsessing over the lack of his Mark until that fateful day when it had returned but if this was even a fraction of what he’d felt then, she understood. It was as though someone had taken a piece of her away, and then left her to die.

She sat up, pushing Elizabeth away, her skin white as snow and beaded with sweat. Did they not feel it? Dizzy, she forced herself to her feet, the world a blur as she stumbled forwards, falling back into the chair as there was nowhere else to go.

“Emily?”

She would know that voice anywhere, no matter the circumstances. She had heard it in her dreams, heard it in her waking moments. It had become more familiar to her than her own had, that low lilt unintentionally full of condescension and derision at all times. She heard Elizabeth let out a quiet gasp, the only one who was able to make a noise, but as Emily pressed her hand to her forehead in an attempt to quell the ache in her head, she did not hear it. She scrunched her eyes, blinking back the crushing weight of darkness that tried to settle itself within her mind before glancing back over her shoulder.

There, blood crusted around a wound that cross his pale throat, stood the Outsider.

It was unlike most times when he visited, pulling Emily into the Void for a short moment, or existing only partially in her world. No, he was settled entirely on the ground, and the roiling clouds of black smoke that tended to follow him were nowhere to be found. The wooden floorboards sank under his weight, and without Void’s magic fuelling him, he looked gaunter than ever. Already high cheekbones protruded from his corpse-pale skin, and the purple marks below his eyes earned from exhaustion had certainly not been there earlier.

She didn’t want to look at his neck, the sight of his dark red-black blood making her ill. He had told her that when he’d bene sacrificed, they had taken the cursed knife and slit his throat, leaving him to die. The blood had run out, and he had become a god.

And now someone had done the same again.

His eyes were as black as ever though were rather glassy as he tried to conceal his pain, and the jagged tear marking his body still wept blood. It dripped down onto this charcoal jacket that he always wore, staining the fabric a horrible shade of umber.

He swayed on his feet, struggling to remain upright, before he—just as she had a moment prior—fell to the ground, limp as a doll.

Emily tried to get up again, to move to his side but the instant she stood up, the blackness that pressed down on her won, and the last thing she remembered was the air rushing past her as she collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Oh, shit, things are about to go _down._~~
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you enjoyed, and if you haven't yet, don't forget to drop a kudos.
> 
> (Also, how have you _not_ dropped a kudos yet? I am assuming if you've _literally_ read seventy one thousand+ words of this you enjoy this to some extent. ~~Also, good God, this was only supposed to be a short fic. Now it's the length of a novel, what the hell, when did this happen? Who let me get carried away?~~ )


	32. Our Skies Turned Dim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"For the first time in nearly sixteen years, Emily Kaldwin felt powerless. She was watching her life unfold before her, unable to do a thing. She was that small, defenceless little girl she'd been when Daud had run a sword through her mother's chest."_

Emily sat in the bed, leaning against the headboard, and her legs covered in a scratchy wool blanket. She examined her Marked hand from all sides, flexing her fingers, and cracking her knuckles as though it would change anything. She could feel nothing. Not even the hint of magic. Even the whalebone charm hanging from her neck had ceased its crooning. It had gone completely silent, the familiar song disappearing into thin air. Her bonecharms had suffered the same fate, now little more than carved pieces of bone arranged in a strangely pleasing formation.

Daud and Elizabeth had not suffered the same violent reaction to being cut off from the Void, though both moved a little bit slower, and took a little longer to recuperate from strenuous behaviour. They were not doing well, but they were functioning. They tried to make light of the situation but every time they cracked a quip in a futile attempt to make Emily smile, all she did was retreat further into herself. Eventually, they gave up.

But, as to be expected, it was the Outsider who had reacted worst of all.

He had said nothing since he’d appeared, not even letting out any noises to indicate his stance on questions. He responded in utter silence, still as one of Delilah’s statues, and spent hours staring blankly into the distance which did little but frighten the daylights out of Yelena who did everything she could to make him comfortable. Emily suspected she was trying to make up for her ancestors’ mistakes.

Emily couldn’t bring herself to see the Outsider. She hadn’t left her bed in the past three days, knowing that each day she spent in this catatonic state was another day lost, but what was the point? She knew what had happened, even without getting the Outsider to explain. Somehow Zhukov had managed to banish the Outsider from his own realm, and Emily suspected that the cursed knife had something to do with it. The cut across the Outsider’s neck seemed a little too coincidental to be anything but the result of careful planning. What was the point in getting up, anyway? Zhukov had won. He was untouchable in the Void, and even if she _could_ harm him, she did not know what he was going to do next.

She couldn’t stop him.

She was powerless, defenceless, useless—

“You are not intending on sitting there forever, are you?”

She looked up from her hands to see Zenaida standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. Emily hated the fact that the Tyvian looked far better than she did, though that wasn’t hard. Her hair had been tightly pulled back away from her head, ebony ringlets barely brushing her back, and there was a colour in her cheeks that Emily hadn’t seen before. She didn’t even want to check a mirror to see how she looked. Even then, she knew that her own black hair looked like a rat’s nest, and she could hardly keep her eyes open, she was so exhausted. Her senses felt dull, and there was an emptiness in her that wouldn’t leave. It was as though someone had torn her heart from her chest, leaving a gaping hole where it had once been.

She shrugged half-heartedly, unable to do little else. “Is there any point in this, do you think?”

Zenaida took a seat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under her weight. “I do not think that there is a point in giving up. It’s your duty.”

“I confess I am surprised that you are not more…concerned by your father’s involvement in this,” she said.

“I’ve thought he was dead for the past six years,” she replied. “I’ve moved on.” She reached across, placing a hand over Emily’s leg, and her face crumpling in an attempt to smile. It wasn’t reassuring in any way shape or form. “You should go talk to…him.”

She grunted, turning over onto her side, and hiding her face in the pillow.

“Emily.”

She felt like she was a child again, moping her troubles away. She knew that lying in one of Yelena’s spare beds would do little to solve the issue at hand but for the first time in nearly sixteen years, Emily Kaldwin felt powerless. She was watching her life unfold before her, unable to do a thing. She was that small, defenceless little girl she’d been when Daud had run a sword through her mother’s chest. She couldn’t even bring herself to eat, let alone try and get out of bed.

“Tell me,” she murmured, “how are you so calm?”

“Aren’t you, as the Empress, supposed to be the calm one?” Zenaida’s brows raised. “Should I not be asking you?”

“Clearly I am failing,” she said. She couldn’t even meet Zenaida’s expectations of the all-powerful Empress Emily Kaldwin, it seemed. Her failure was more than just a failure. It was a disappointment.

Truth be told, she didn’t want to see the Outsider. Up until now, he’d been nothing more than a dreamful fancy. He hadn’t been real, not really. He had always been that intimidating Leviathan in the back of her mind, and now that he was injured, crippled, maimed, incapacitated, she realised that he was just as vulnerable as she was. The world was ending and he was supposed to save it, but how could he do a thing if he was half dead?

She’d known that the Outsider was dying—it was difficult to wrap her mind around the fact that she’d been on this quest, for a lack of better terms, for nearly two months now. Even then, she’d thought it impossible. Now reality was slapping her in the face, demanding that she pay attention. She couldn’t remain ignorant and placid for that much longer. No one knew how many days they had left but it certainly wasn’t long.

Dunwall was going to fall.

“I am aware that we got off on the…wrong foot,” said Zenaida, wringing her hands, “but I want you to know that I am…here for you? Is that the correct thing to say?”

She couldn’t help but laugh into her pillow. “If this is about me not trusting you,” she said, “I want you to know that I do. To some extent, anyhow.”

“Oh.” Her response was curt, clipped, and the bed shook as Zenaida shifted her weight. “That’s good to know.”

“Why?”

“I was worried you might blame me for my father’s mistake.”

“We are more than our parents, Zenaida.” Emily rolled over, staring up at the beams crossing the ceiling. They were about the size of her arm, and wrapped with the silver cobwebs. When was the last time, she wondered to herself, someone stayed in this room? Yelena must have been alone for decades. She sighed. “We are more than our parents,” she repeated. “We are more than our mistakes, and we’re most certainly more than theirs. How… How is he? The Outsider?” Emily almost didn’t want to know the answer to her own question but she needed to know. She sat up, curling her knees in towards her chest as she met Zenaida’s eyes. If she was in this state, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how the Outsider was doing.

Zenaida’s tense silence was the answer she’d been dreading to hear.

Emily let out air through her teeth, sweeping her hair away from her face. “Has he healed?”

“Healed enough, at least. Daud, it seems, is very good at dealing with large knife wounds. I’m not entirely surprised by that, to be honest,” she replied. “It is his mental state that is concerning now. I cannot say I know what it is like, to be cut off from the Void, but it is clear that it is not an altogether pleasant experience.”

“It’s like being lost,” she murmured, giving an answer to a question that had never been asked. Her eyes narrowed as Zenaida made a derisive snort. “What?”

“You speak as though you are nothing more than your gifts,” she said. “As though you did not exist before he came into your life. You lived for years without him. Now, you have returned to being that person, and instead of relying on your old strengths, you weep for what you have lost. I confess that I find it all rather pathetic.”

“I _hardly_ think—”

“Your title does not grant you the permission to cut me off,” Zenaida snapped though it absolutely did. “Elizabeth and Daud may not have had the same adverse reaction as you did but do not mistake their silence for peace. They suffer just as you do but they possess a strength that you apparently do not, and continuing marching on. You have watched cities rise and fall, burned and saved. This should be nothing to you. This should be common. They have lost much but I daresay you have lost more. The difference is, the things they have lost have been lost to Death himself. You have lost that which you loved to life, and had the capacity to take it all back, and take it back you did. You were there as an empire and an empress fell, and you managed to lift your city back out of the ashes of treachery.

“Now, you are older, wiser, stronger, and you think that you are meaningless without the Outsider’s blessings. Have you forgotten that as a ten year old, you saved your family’s legacy? Have you forgotten that just last year you spilt your blood to regain your kingdom? Most people would be lucky to accomplish one of these successes in their lifetime, and within a decade you saved your kingdom twice. It does not matter if you do not have the upper hand. You wear the crown for a reason, Emily Kaldwin, and it is because you are the only one of us who truly deserves to wear it.”

Her words stung, mostly because she was right. Emily had been an entirely capable empress before the Outsider, and it was his gifts that had simply improved who she was. Even then, she still felt like some part of her was missing. She had become far too used to the magic in her bones for it to be taken away so violently. She dreaded thinking of the agony her father had been in when Delilah had torn his Mark from him without hesitation, leaving him cast in cold stone.

Where was Corvo, anyhow? He must have been back from Serkonos by now, but was he coming after her? She’d been gone a while, and she dreaded to think how her advisors were managing the Isles. Jameson, Borden, Doctor Toksvig, Corvo… She stopped herself before she thought about Alexi. Her death still shot pains through her chest.

Alexi Mayhew had been one of Emily’s closest friends, and it was because of Delilah _damned coup_ that she had died in her arms. She confessed that their relationship had never been strictly professional but how could it not have been? Alexi had saved her life more times than she could count, and never saw Emily as more than just what she was. It was strange that the latter was a ridiculous request for so many, but she reckoned that even Corvo— _her father_ —saw her as an Empress before he saw her as Emily.

She had a thousand identities, each reflecting a different facet of her identity that had been forged in fire and blood. Sometimes, she felt as though she couldn’t keep them all under control, and simply hopped from one to another without pausing in between. She didn’t know who she was when she wasn’t putting up a façade. Was she nothing more than a blank slate, or was there another side to her that even she had yet to discover?

Truth was, she didn’t know.

She needed a moment where her kingdom wasn’t threatened just so she could be breathe. She needed some form of stability. She need _constancy_. Right now, she wasn’t getting any of that. Every couple years, every single time she’d settled down, something—or someone—came by and tore her up by her roots.

Emily Kaldwin was tired.

Tired of it all, tired of trying and failing to keep peace, tired of having her efforts rendered useless. She knew that she should have been thankful that her only problems were that she felt like she couldn’t truly count on anyone rather than whether or not she had enough money to buy food. She knew that people would kill to be her—and how they had tried—but she couldn’t bring herself to count her blessings.

She was exhausted, and she finally wanted some peace. Now that the world was ending, and that the Void would devour all living souls perhaps she could finally achieve that.

But Zenaida was right.

This was her duty.

She had pledged her mind, body, and soul to the kingdom she led. Why was she so surprised, then, that after years of empty promises that it was finally collecting on her offer? Her mother had, quite literally, given her to improving the Isles for her people. Somehow, Emily suspected that she would have to do the same. She had a duty, had an obligation to fulfil, and this was it.

Everything she had done in her life had led her to this path, and even the Outsider had seen the countless other turns she could have taken. She could have come to power in an age of terror and corruption atop a mountain of corpses. Instead, her ascension had brought a small amount of peace to her lands, and in a time where peace was even scarcer than whale oil, she must have been doing a decent job. She was clay, and she’d been moulded from the experiences she had endured. Every death, every life, every choice had shaped her into becoming the only person that could ensure that the Void was kept at bay.

She had been so busy worrying about other people’s expectations she had stopped holding herself to a standard, and if things had been calmer, she knew that there was no way she would have let herself get away with this level of apathy.

This was her duty, and she couldn’t deny that any longer.

She inhaled, summoning her strength, and swung her feet out of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Oh look, it's two updates in two days, wow.~~ We haven't had enough Zenaida lately, so I figured I would give her a chapter to shine. Especially since she's showing up for the sequel. The Outsider's back in the next chapter, not to worry. Well, I say not to worry, but I would be worrying about other things. Take that as you will.
> 
> Don't forget to drop a kudos if you haven't already, and leave a comment if you've got any questions or theories about where this is going. I won't say I will confirm anything, but I'll definitely deny things...


	33. Taste the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"“It's not about protecting you, Emily," he said. "If you died in my name, I do not think I would make any attempts to live."_

Emily regretted letting Zenaida talk her into this the instant she saw the Outsider. He looked worse than ever, his normally pale skin sallow, and his entire body sagging with exhaustion. His neck had been wrapped in aging bandages, the white fabric long since gone yellow. His black eyes were glassy and downcast, staring at the rings on his hands, and his corpse-pale lips were pressed together in a frown. His usual garments had been traded for an ill-fitting cream tunic that tied at his waist, and did little but make him look as though he was a hospital patient. She winced, knocking on the door as an afterthought as she stepped into the room.

He didn’t even look at her.

“I will not ask you how you are feeling,” she said, her voice hoarse from disuse and anxiety. She felt physically ill, and not simply because of her lack of a connection with the Void. “I’m certain,” she continued, “you’ve been asked that enough times already.”

The Outsider was as still as a statue.

She found tears welling in her eyes, her anger, and frustration, and genuine _fear_ manifesting in a moment of weakness. “You know, you could at least do us— _me_ —the courtesy of trying to help us because we can’t…We can’t just give up now.”

She supressed her raging emotions through gritted teeth as the Outsider didn’t respond, trying to achieve a _moment_ of clarity in this chaos. It wasn’t entirely successful, and she’d long since learned that supressing her thoughts only made them that much worse but if the Outsider was incapacitated…that only left Emily to be the strong one. She had to be the courageous in the face of certain doom because there was no one else who would.

“ _Fine_ ,” she said, half in resignation, and half in a desperate attempt to provoke some sort of reaction from him. “You can stay you, and you can mourn, but in the meantime, I’m going to go find Zhukov, and I’ll kill him or die trying.”

Emily turned back towards the door, only stopping when he croaked, “Wait.”

She hesitated, still simmering with anger. One hand gripped the doorframe so tight that her nails left half-moon indents in the soft wood.

“Stay.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the Outsider who had finally looked up for the first time in three days, then nodded. She settled on the edge of the bed beside his hip, tracing the Mark on her hand with a finger. Just as she pulled away to push her hair behind her ear, the Outsider’s hand reached out and grabbed hers, gripping it tight as though she was the only thing grounding him to this plane.

She gripped his hand just as tight, holding on for dear life and unable to let go. He almost felt too real. Every time they had touched before, she’d always worried that he would slip through but now… She could feel his pulse underneath his skin. He was flesh and blood now, and entirely vulnerable to mortal threats. She did not know if they would kill him, but as evidenced by his throat, he could bleed, and Zhukov would not stop until the Outsider was dead. She almost feared now that if she let go of him, this would be the last time they ever spoke. Some part of her balked at the idea.

The tears that had threatened to spill earlier were all but gone, leaving her empty and exhausted. Void only knew she wanted to cry but at this point, Emily was too drained to even be able to keep her eyes open for very long. She let out a breath, staring down at their joined hands. “I feel as though I have failed you.”

The Outsider made a noise as though choking, and tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. “How so?”

“If I’d found out about Zhukov sooner—”

“Emily, don’t.” The Outsider was just as powerless as she was at the current moment, but his authority was still clear. Her mouth snapped shut of its own volition, and she found herself biting her tongue to keep from continuing on. He was silent for a long moment, during which Emily still found herself incapable of speaking. Then, he swallowed. “It’s not your fault.”

She huffed, pulling her hand out of his to cross her arms. “I think you will find that will _hardly_ keep me from blaming myself—”

“E-Emily.” His voice cracked on her name, and when she looked up at him, she realised that he was in tears. They rolled down his cheeks, so out of place on his otherworldly features that she couldn’t believe that they were real. “I don’t want to you risk your life to save—”

“I don’t care what you want,” she shot, pushing herself to her feet. “This is me being selfish for a change, and I don’t want you to die.”

“You said you were going to kill him or you were going to die trying.” His eyes shut, eyelashes damp and sticking to his skin. “Don’t become the very thing you have fought against for years. You kill him, and you start down a path that you may not return from.”

“I don’t _care!_ ” she said, voice raising, and distantly aware that for the first time in years, Emily Kaldwin was in tears. Her heart had broken when she’d had to let her mother fade into the Void just to stop Delilah, but even then, she had not cried. Now, she couldn’t keep them back for a moment longer, the prospect of letting the Outsider die finally pushing her past her breaking point. She wouldn’t see him die, she _couldn’t_ , and she most certainly wouldn’t be one to stand by and let it happen.

“I don’t care what you want,” she repeated, hands curled into fists so tight that her nails drew blood from the soft skin of her palm. “This isn’t just about you, not anymore. You dragged me into this ages ago. The day I met you, you ensured that I would be willing to sacrifice _everything_ to save you, and I think you knew that. There’s a reason I think, that you asked me to save you rather than my father. I can’t let you die, can you not understand that? Everything that you’ve done ensured that, and our—” Her words fell short as her thoughts went back to their shared moment of illicit intimacy. They weren’t worlds apart now, and that Emily’s sole excuse for her restraint had gone out the window, but that didn’t mean that they were any closer to indulging her childish fantasies. “Everything you’ve done,” she said, struggling to keep her composure from fracturing further, “has led me here, and you sealed your fate when you Marked me.”

They both knew what she was really trying to say.

He had sealed his fate when he’d let her fall for a god.

In some desperate attempt to excuse her actions, Emily wondered if this was what the second line of Elizabeth’s prophecy meant. _Dunwall will fall_. Had Dunwall, and by extension Emily, fallen for the Outsider? She hoped that it was metaphorical rather than literal as the previous line had been, but some part of her knew that she was grasping for straws. She was seeing connections where there were none, and had convinced herself that this mere coincidence had more meaning than it did.

She didn’t stop to consider that this poor excuse of fulfilling the prophecy might eventually be the reason the Empire would crumble.

The Outsider opened his eyes, and when she looked into them, she could see no trace of the Void’s indigo skies behind the black. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said.

“I do not need your protecting.”

“Your only weakness is yourself,” he continued, undeterred by her protests. He was wrong, of course. She could think of at least two others off of the top of her head. “You cannot be ruined by any traditional means, but give you an unwinnable fight… You would fight till you died. Tell me, what am I to do if you lose to Zhukov? You will be dead, and then I am in the same position I was before your death. I do not want you to die if it means nothing, hence I would you rather not put your life on the line. Why do you think that such an impossible request?”

“I am _not_ going to stand by and watch you die, even if I have little to no chance of succeeding. I would bet my _life_ on that five percent chance than remain idle. I have had enough of being powerless, why do you not understand that? First Daud, then Zhukov, then Delilah… I am capable of fighting now. Do you not remember that I faced Zhukov before? I nearly succeeded too, if you have forgotten. I am certain that I will succeed this time, and if I die, so be it, I will die in your name. What do you think will happen to me if _you_ die? The Void is on the verge of consuming reality as I know it, and I doubt that Zhukov in power would do anything to stop it.”

“We do not yet know if it is Zhukov who is behind this.”

His words made her freeze. “What?” She hadn’t even considered the possibility that their opponent was anyone _but_ Zhukov. Everything had said it was him, everything had made sense. They had never found his body, and it couldn’t be a coincidence that both the knife and Zenaida were involved in this.

But then Emily began to think.

 _They took my power,_ the voice had said in that hushed, indistinct whisper. _They took the magic from my bones, and they left. I will take it back with ash and blood, and your precious little Dunwall will fall to ice and flame. I followed them to the ends of the world, and this is my end?_

She had thought that the magic in the voice’s bones had referred to Zhukov’s charms over the people of Tyvia before the High Judges had sentenced him to freedom, and left him to die. She realised then that her idea had made little sense. Her overconfidence had led to an oversight, and now Emily didn’t know what to do. Who was it then? Who had stolen the magic from their bones, and left them to die? Who had a follower so devout that they had followed them to the ends of the world?

“I never saw him,” the Outsider said, snapping her out of the reverie as he leaned his head back against the headboard. “Did you?”

His solemn countenance drove the point home, and Emily had to take a seat on the bed in shock, a hand over her mouth. “If not Zhukov then—”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It might very well be him, but if it isn’t, are you so confident in your abilities that you would still risk your life?”

“It isn’t about whether or not I’m confident in my abilities,” she said. “It’s about doing my duty.”

“Your _duty_ is to your people,” he said, venomously defensive. “What are they to do if you die? You have not yet procured an heir, and you have had only a _taste_ of how unfit the other contenders for the throne are. If you think Delilah was bad, I think you will find that there are ordinary people who lack the magic she had who could be just as dangerous if given the means.”

“Corvo—”

“Corvo is _not_ a member of the royal family,” he shot. “By neither blood nor by marriage, or have you forgotten?”

Her illegitimacy didn’t concern her on most occasions, given that her mother had recognised her as her sole heir, and Corvo had been—mostly—well received by the court upon hearing of his connection to Emily. However, it put her in a dangerous position where her rule was more susceptible to being challenged. It was why that Delilah—an illegitimate child herself—had been able to stake a claim to the throne. By all means, she’d had more right to it as Euhorn Kaldwin’s bastard than Emily did. Emily had never met her grandfather as he’d died long before she’d been born, but if his amorous relationship with Delilah’s mother was evidence, then she had no way of knowing how many other illegitimate Kaldwin heirs were waiting for their chance on the throne.

Until Emily married and had a child from that marriage, the Kaldwin dynasty rested on her young shoulders. Unfortunately, marriage was the key part there. As progressive as her council was—as she’d made certain—she doubted than another illegitimate Kaldwin heir would do anything but further the suspicions that the Kaldwins were unfit to rule. One slip up, and everything three generations of Kaldwins had spent years working towards would be sent down the drain. A regency would have to succeed her, should Emily die, and given how poor the choice of the last regent had been, she dreaded to think of who it would be next.

She would have to check who was next in line once she returned to Dunwall.

“Emily,” breathed the Outsider, “your death would cause just as much destruction as mine would.”

“Then it seems we are at a stand-still,” she snapped. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, eyes scrunched as she thought. “We do not have a choice. This must be done.”

“We always have a choice, Emily.”

“You say that only because you can see every choice everybody can ever make,” she said. “Sometimes, it’s not as clear on the other side. Then you add in the complications of morals, and personal bias, and external circumstances—”

“Then prove to me that this is the only course of action you can take.”

She ground her teeth to keep from cursing. Why wasn’t she surprised? She should have expected as much from him. “If I die, the Empire goes through a crisis regarding line of succession,” she said slowly. “However, if you die, then there is no Empire at all. A crisis can be solved. Destruction no so much. If no one attempts to save you, then your death is certain. There are only three currently capable and present to be able to make an attempt to stop Zhukov, or whoever it is that we are facing. The fourth is no less than three weeks away, and by the time he gets here, it may be too late. Therefore, one of the three present must be the one to try and save you. If our enemy is Zhukov, then I am the only one with the knowledge to stop him, therefore I must be the one to put my life on the line.”

“And if it is not?”

“I will indulge you, but I doubt that is the case,” she said. “If it is not, then Elizabeth and Daud have the capacity to try and stop this…threat, for lack of a better word. However, if it came down to it, I am certain neither of them would be particularly keen to die in an attempt to save you.”

“If it’s not Zhukov, you must entertain the possibility of Daud or Elizabeth trying to land the killing blow.”

“It _is_ , so it will not be necessary but…” Her shoulders sagged as she nodded. “I will. I cannot guarantee what they will do, if they would be so willing to sacrifice their lives to save yours, but if they would volunteer, then I will let them. Does this sate your strange need to try and protect me?”

“It’s not about protecting you, Emily,” he said. “If you died in my name, I do not think I would make any attempts to live.”

“Oh, _romantic_ ,” she said sarcastically. “You would give up entirely if I were to die, rather than trying at all to succeed where I failed.”

“Do me a favour then, Emily,” the Outsider said. “Do not die.”

She wanted to shoot back some sort of witty quip, if only to lighten the dark mood that had soured the air and settled down over them, but she found herself unable to, and the words strangely lacking. All his fears were grounded in a genuine possibility, and Emily couldn’t make light of that without being absolutely _certain_ that he had nothing to be concerned about. Even on his deathbed, he was trying to ensure that she would survive, and under any other circumstances, she would have appreciated but…

Emily did not know if she wanted to live in a world without him in it.

He had been a _constant_ in her life for such a long time now, first through Corvo, and now through her. Letting him die, and being powerless to stop it would be far more painful than having her connection with the Void being cut off. That had been _agony,_ but watching the Outsider die by Zhukov’s hands, and swearing to let him die?

She did not know if she could survive that herself.

She was an unstoppable force, and this force was the immovable object, but as it was with all permanent things, something would eventually have to give. Every unstoppable force would have to falter, and every immovable object would have to nudge. Emily would not be the one to give in first. She would risk becoming the very thing she despised only it gave her a chance to save the Outsider.

She had told Elizabeth that she could have walked the same path of Delilah without any degree of effort. It would have been easier than breathing, to give in to the dark thoughts that she could never quite get rid of, and fight for what she believed in with tooth, nail, claw, and no care for the consequences. The blood Delilah had spilled would pale in comparison to the blood composed of all those who dared to stand in Emily’s way. She would not let herself be stopped, not now, and not ever.

She would rather risk becoming Delilah than let another person she loved slip right through her open fingers.

Even if that meant, because of her tirade with the dark, her white purity would irreconcilably, irrevocably, and irreversibly be stained grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only seven chapters to go~


	34. Run Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Who are you?"_

As she exited the Outsider’s room, Emily hung her sword at her waist, snapping it into its sheath. Her father’s folding blade had been constructed by Piero Joplin, and as such its quality was unparalleled, but before she and Sokolov had parted ways, she’d managed to get him to deconstruct the sword as well as create a blueprint. Once she had settled down in Dunwall following the coup, she’d ordered one to be made to her specifications, and to better suit her grip. There were many who disapproved of an empress carrying a weapon at all times, but Emily would be damned if she was caught off guard again.

She wouldn’t let there be another Alexi.

She had to shake the images of her red haired companion out of her head, her heartrate starting to rise as she began to picture the way she had died. There was blood everywhere, on her hands, under her nails—

She gritted her teeth, slamming Brailde’s knife point down into the table. It wobbled, precariously balancing in the wood, but remained upright. “If Zhukov walked here from the shrine, then it won’t be far,” she said. “We need to draw him here, and find out whatever it is that is tying him to the Void. Cut him off. The Knife cannot be destroyed but this one… He has to be drawing his power from the Knife, and if Brailde’s enchantment holds, destroying this one will give us enough of an opening to kill him. I don’t imagine we will have long, so we will have to act fast.”

“And what about him?” Daud said, jerking his head towards the Outsider’s room.

Yelena sighed, pushing her hair back. “He is still a god,” she said. “Even then, we will…we will have to reappoint him as the god of the Void. Zhukov was able to undo a part of my ancestors’ work, but not enough to kill him. I will require assistance with getting the supplies, and I need the Knife.”

“Elizabeth, you’ll—” began Emily.

“Help Yelena, of course,” she finished with a nod. “If you and Daud preoccupy Zhukov, I can slip in and get the knife. Yelena shall complete the ritual, and once the Outsider’s back…” She flexed the fingers of her left hand. “We end Zhukov once and for all.”

“What am I to do?” Zenaida asked, raising a brow. “I would like to assist.”

“When was the last time you spoke to your father? Before his…freedom?” Emily couldn’t help but smile when the Tyvian nodded. “Distract him. Keep his attention for long enough that we can destroy the knife. He will still have his powers, so be _careful_.”

 “Here I was thinking I’d run into his arms. Lovely father-daughter reunion.”

“ _Zenaida,_ ” Emily sighed though she had to bite back a laugh. Any trace of amusement died however as she considered the biggest problem with her plan. She toyed with her necklace as though trying to coax a drop of magic from the bone. For an instant, she could have sworn she felt a familiar hum come to life underneath her touch, but it died in the same instant. “We still have no bait. We need to draw him here—fight him on our terms—but we have nothing he wants. I doubt he even considers a threat at this point.”

A cough came from behind her, and there in the entrance to the room stood the Outsider, his hands wrapped around his own waist. He shivered violently as though fighting a fever, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes. It burned, lighting up the midnight, and lopsided smirk made its way onto his lips. “I believe that is where I come in,” he said in a low voice. “He wants me dead, of that much we are certain. There _is_ a reason I fled here rather than hiding in the deepest reaches of the Void.”

“We cannot put your life on the line in an attempt to save it.”

“No, the Outsider is right on this account, Emily,” Elizabeth said. “Zhukov wants him dead more than anything else, and we do not have many other options. As unpleasant, and as dangerous it may be, I fear it may be our only choice.”

Daud looked around at their small, ragtag group of people. Two assassins, an empress, a daughter of a traitor, a Pandyssian cultist, and the Great Leviathan. Even without magic, they were a force to be reckoned with, and Zhukov would not stand a chance. “Looks like we’re set then,” he said. “Now let’s go kill that bastard.”

Despite the severity of the situation, the world outside was calm as it could be. The winds had died entirely, not even a gentle breeze sweeping over the snowy tundra. Individual snowflakes almost seemed to hang in the air as though time itself had come to a standstill. Emily’s breath clouded before her face before condensing, and causing small, glittering crystals to form on her black hair.

She shivered, rubbing her hands together through her gloves, cold even though her heart was racing. She could hear the blood pounding in the ears as she stood in the centre of the dilapidated, and ruined houses of Uzhasnyy. Yelena had begun prepping for the ritual, hoping that the magic imbued in the earth would call Zhukov to the age-old, abandoned town.

Her time in Tyvia was coming to an end, and by the time the Month of High Cold rolled around, she would be back home in Gristol. She didn’t think she could ever miss the perpetual damp of Dunwall, but in comparison to the snow, she  _longed_ for the rain.

“Your worrying helps no one,” the Outsider sighed, placing a hand over hers to keep her from fidgeting. Despite being weakened, he didn’t seem to be affected by the cold. He wore his usual garments, now clean of any blood stains, and the normality was almost unnerving. After the hectic nature of the past few weeks, any sense of normalcy was just…strange. “Everything will go exactly to plan.”

Emily swallowed. “I confess I do not like this plan.”

“You made it.”

She laughed bitterly. “I suppose I did, yes,” she said. “I know I should not doubt my abilities but it’s strange to think that this is what everything has been leading up to. This is the end of the line.”

“Your journey will continue on past these dark days, Emily,” said the Outsider. “This will be a moment only few will remember. It will never go down in the history books, and your hardships will be lost to time. You stopped a man who threatened to destroy the world, and no one will know of it. It will be overshadowed by your many other decisions and actions as empress. This is not the end of the line. The end of another chapter, perhaps, but it is far from the end of your tale.”

“You have a strange way of trying to be comforting,” she muttered.

To her surprise, he laughed but his amusement quickly disappeared. “Emily,” he said, voice soft and low, “I want you to know—”

“There are people on the horizon,” Elizabeth interrupted, stepping between them, “and I doubt that they are here to help.” She glanced at their close proximity to each other, raising one brow. “ _Come on_.”

He didn’t have the time to finish his sentence, Emily being quickly ushered away by Elizabeth. She escorted her behind a ruined building, pointing at the horizon. There, moving ever closer, were two black specks against the great white expanse. One had to be Zhukov but the other…

“Where’s Zenaida?” Emily asked.

Elizabeth’s grey eyes widened. “I thought you would know. You do not suppose—” She was cut off as a cry broke through the air. They glanced back over their shoulders, trying to understand where the sound had come from but when they looked back, the figures on the horizon had disappeared.

They scrambled to get back, kicking up snow as they ran. Emily’s plan was falling apart. They returned just in time to see Yelena’s body falling to the ground, blood pouring out of a fresh wound in her chest. Behind her stood a figure whose features were entirely obscured by thick wool scarf, goggles with red glass lenses hiding their eyes. Blood dripped on to the white snow from their sword—the same sword which was now pointed towards Emily, warning her not to move.

Not that she could have anyway. Her entire body seemed to have locked up, freezing where she stood. Her thoughts were disjointed, unable to be drawn together through the adrenaline that had started to pump through her system. Zenaida was missing. Yelena was dead. The snow is crimson. The sky was grey—she needed to push past this, needed to, needed to, need to…

_She needed to focus_.

The cold air stung her lungs as she inhaled, but its pain was just what Emily needed. It snapped her out of her reverie, and she finally began to assess the situation. Yelena was now dead, her corpse cooling in the snow, and her killer was standing no less than three feet in front of Emily. Okay, good, that was a start.

Yelena’s killer… She had to force herself to look them in the eyes, her reflection mirrored back to her in those red lenses. They were only just taller than she was, but twice as thin—even through the thick, fur coat that they wore, she could tell that much—and they were holding a sword to her neck.

“Who are you?” she said hoarsely, trying not to look at Yelena’s corpse. She had not known the woman long, but she was innocent in all of this.

And now they had no one to finish the Outsider’s ritual.

She was improvising, now. There was nothing else she could do. She had a sword to her throat, and Elizabeth, without her abilities, was too slow to take her opponent down without risking Emily’s life. Neither of them depended on the Void to do what they did best—Emily had rarely used her gifts in the past few weeks—but it would certainly help in moments such as these. The increased speed and mobility would have allowed them to save Yelena, and now she was dead, all because they had been too slow.

Her only consolation was that the Outsider was nowhere to be seen.

She hoped that he had fled, hidden somewhere safe, and out of harm’s way. If someone was to survive this, it would have to be him. Her own willingness to die startled her. It wasn’t selflessness, she knew that much, but she was doing what had to be done, damned be the harm that befell her. Oh, if Hiram Burrows could see her now. He had called her spoilt, and she had heard him say that she was selfish, stupid, undisciplined, and numerous other insults behind her back. Despite his derisive remarks, she was the one that was ready to die in an attempt to save the Isles.

Burrows had died as a result of his own self-indulgence.

He had gone too far, and had become over confident in his abilities. He had brought a plague upon Dunwall—as Emily had discovered later on—in an attempt to rid of the poor in one clean, neat attack. He had not put the time, nor the heart, into his actions, and in the end, it had cost him his life.

Emily had poured her entire life into improving the Isles. She could not count how many nights she had spent locked in her room, pouring over new plans, new developments, and new strategies to help raise her kingdom until the sun had risen over the horizon. She had shed blood, sweat, and tears trying to earn her throne back from Delilah, but she had learned her lesson:

Never let go of what you loved.

Delilah had taught her to take what she wanted, and Burrows had taught her to fight tooth, nail, and claw. It was a dangerous combination, and right now…

Right now, Emily wanted her opponent’s head on a platter.

“ _Who are you?_ ” she repeated, trying her best to emulate Daud’s growl. Somehow, it had an ability to strike fear into men’s hearts, and needed to be as intimidating as she could. She was defenceless, save for her words, so her words would have to be as sharp as daggers. One misstep, one misspoken word, and the knife at her throat would be painted red. They could either save her life, or they could damn her.

It seemed to work as her masked foe visibly recoiled at her angry tone. “Oh, child, how naïve you have been,” they replied, their voice low, accented. They enunciated on consonants that would not typically be enunciated, and there was a distinctly feminine lilt to their intonation.

She…

She knew that voice.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew, deep down in her gut, that something was very, _very_ wrong.

“Naïve?” she repeated, swallowing so hard that her neck scratched against the blade.

“It is not my identity that you should be concerned about,” the woman said, removing the goggles and scarf that obscured her face with her free hand, revealing a familiar face.

“ _Brailde,_ ” hissed Elizabeth, spitting out her name through her teeth.

“Why should we not be concerned about your identity?” Emily asked. “It seems you have betrayed us. _That_ is reason for concern.”

The Pandyssian witch gestured behind both Elizabeth and Emily. “Well,” she said, flashing her pearl-white teeth, “I have brought a friend.”

 Emily dreaded turning around. She didn’t want to know who was behind her. Some part of her still prayed that it was Zhukov, that Brailde had brought an ally she could actually defend herself against.

But when she did look behind her, her heart stopped.

For there, holding the Outsider’s knife to Daud’s jugular, was Galia Fleet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~AS IF I WOULD MAKE IT THAT EASY. ZHUKOV? HA! NOT TAKING THE EASY WAY OUT. NOPE, I'M TOO EXTRA FOR THAT NONSENSE.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, yeah, that was a double update, mostly because this is a very important chapter, and I wanted it out and over with. Also, we're running a bit ahead of schedule, but that's okay. Especially considering how over dramatic I'm being with these updates....
> 
> For those of you who don't know Galia, she'll be explained in the next chapter. For those that do, I'm surprised no one's suspected her yet, to be honest. I mean, the ending lines of Chapter Eighteen were _"Emily shot one last pained glance towards the papers littering the apartment before stepping through, Elizabeth following seconds later. Neither of them noticed the initials G.F carved into the floorboards."_ I told you we've been working towards this for _ages..._


	35. Stone Cold Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Truth be told, she wanted to scream too. She wanted to the point the finger at someone else, and blame them for this. But they were all in the wrong."_

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Everything was _wrong_. She thought she’d had it all figured out, but how wrong she’d ended up being. Zhukov, the man she had been chasing for several days now, had nothing to do with this in actuality. No, instead another ghost had comeback from the dead, and she was twice as vengeful as the former Tyvian hero.

Galia Fleet looked terrible.

Her skin was a mess of bubbled scars, earned from being fully submerged in boiling liquid, and never having been tended to properly. Her complexion was left patchy, and half red. Her short blonde hair had been burned away, leaving behind stringy patches that were barely visible under the scarf she wore for a hood. Her blue-eyed glare, however, was as icy, and as venomous as ever.

And right now, it was locked on Emily.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around how Galia was here. She had watched her die by Zhukov’s hands. He had taken the Outsider’s knife, plunging it into her stomach, and had pushed her in a vat full of a strange liquid below. Then again, she had died with the Outsider’s knife still in her chest. Perhaps it had protected her, bringing her into the Void where she had seethed, plotting her revenge. On Zhukov, for killing her, on Daud and Elizabeth, for leaving her, and on the Outsider, for his power. She almost seemed to flicker in and out of existence, the same way the past had bled into the present at Stilton’s manor. Every so often, she would go grey and transparent, multiple images of her jittering around her form before snapping back into place.

All things considered, Emily knew very little about her. She knew that Galia had plotted with Zenaida’s father, who had intended to use a strange, enchanted mirror to change the world the way Delilah had intended to with her painting. Her motivations, however… Well, she had never been able to figure that out.

“Hello, old friends,” said Galia, her scars crinkling as she smiled. She still had the Outsider’s blade pressed to Daud’s throat, his hands bound behind his back, and a gag in his mouth. He looked _furious_. “Did you miss me?”

“Truth be told, no” Elizabeth hissed. Her anger rolled off of her in waves. She was as tense as a nocked arrow, ready to fly at a moment’s notice, and strike at the enemy. One hand reached towards her sword almost subconsciously as she took a step towards Galia.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Brailde’s warning was barely audible. Her accent made her words sound like a sigh, breathed out in the soothing tone of a mother singing her child a lullaby. Had Emily not been frozen in place by fear, and had Brailde’s words not been a threat, she almost would have felt comforted. Her sword was still at Emily’s neck, and with every swallow, the blade scraped at her throat, so sharp that it cut straight through her skin. In the cold, the blood that began to seep from the wound felt fiery hot, burning a path as it crept below the collar of her coat.

“Do you _know,_ ” Galia said, Zenaida emerging from a nearby ruined house to stand by her side, “just how much of a goose chase you led us on? If it wasn’t for our darling Zenaida here, I doubt that we would have found Uzhasnyy ourselves. Miss Yelena hidden Uzhasnyy from the rest of the world after Zenaida came a little too close for comfort last time, but she revealed it for your sake. Ended up killing her, funnily.”

“And then you swooped in.” Emily shared in Daud’s fury, the blood pumping in her ears. She didn’t even care that with every word she spoke, the red line that now marred her throat got deeper and deeper. She couldn’t feel the pain through her rage. She had been blindsided, and this was her punishment. She should have learned her lesson with Delilah. Your enemies were never who you thought they would be. Especially not when you were an empress. Callista had warned her as a child not to trust anybody. Even her closest allies could betray her. Now, she had ignored the Outsider’s warnings to not be presumptuous and assume who her enemies were, and now this was the price she had to pay. “Why did you kill Yelena?”

“Oh, you haven’t figured it out?” The ex-Whaler raised her brows, calm as she restrained Daud. The Outsider’s knife shone in the dull light, its twin bronze blades appearing to glow gold. The blades themselves were nearly as long as Emily’s forearm, the handle made of what seemed to be whalebone, the same strange runes that marked Emily’s necklace carved into its surface. “My problem is not with the Outsider. My problem is with your…companions, but as you can tell, I am in no place to be getting my revenge any time soon. I walk half in the Void. I need…power. I do apologise, Emily, that the Outsider was the one who had to die in order for me do to what I need to. Zenaida tells me you are…close.”

“Your apologies mean nothing to me,” she spat. “Let Daud go.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, your Majesty,” said Galia. “Not after what he and Elizabeth did to me.”

“We never did anything,” Elizabeth said. “We left, and you fell apart. It was not our responsibility to ensure you did not take everything you had, and let it destroy you.”

“YOU STOLE FROM ME!” Galia screeched, so loud that Daud recoiled away from her. “You took the magic from my bones, and you _left!_ You left me to DIE!”

“If we had known—”

“It does not _matter_ if you had known. You are still responsible for all the pain, and the suffering you caused me.”

Elizabeth looked down at the ground. Emily did not know if it was simply because she no longer had the Void’s magic running through her veins, or it was simply because had suffered for seventeen long years now, and her exhaustion was catching up with her but she looked… Old. “For what it is worth,” she said quietly, “I am sorry.”

“It’s too late for your apologies, Elizabeth,” she said. “No. I will get what I came for: the power you took from me. I will give you a choice—a choice you did not give me. You can choose to take Daud’s place, or he can choose to take yours. Or…Or you can give me the Outsider. Buy yourself a little time. See if you can stop me. Either way, one of you dies, and you get to endure the pain I did. Question is: do you want to have another chance at winning, or do you want to give up now? Tell me, will you put the Isles at risk to save the man you love? What will you give up in order to do what’s right? You have noble blood, Elizabeth, but all blood looks the same when it’s spilt. Do you think your life has any more value than his? And Emily… Will you put your kingdom on the line to save your friends, or will you trade their life for his? How much is he worth to you? You have until sunrise tomorrow. If you’re not there… I slit his throat.”

The only thing Emily saw was Galia’s smile as both she and Brailde disappeared in a cloud of white ash, leaving behind the charred remnants of a bonecharm in their wake.

Galia had proposed quite the choice. Elizabeth’s life for Daud’s, or the Outsider’s for a chance at stopping her. There was no love lost between Emily and Daud, not after all he had done, but after the years he had spent trying to do right by her… Could she really sentence him to die? She didn’t know if she could let Elizabeth take Daud’s place either.

But the Outsider…

She couldn’t let him die. She wouldn’t. Who knew how long it would take for Galia to destroy Dunwall. The Outsider’s death didn’t necessarily mean that they would be able to stop her with their borrowed time either. No, she was an empress, and she couldn’t gamble the lives of her people to save an ally. For those reasons, she had to cross out that possibility.

At least, she told herself that those were the reasons she couldn’t let the Outsider die.

But Emily knew better.

The reasons she couldn’t let him die were far, far, _far_ more personal.

_“YOU!”_

Emily had been too busy pressing a hand over her wound to stem the bleeding to notice what had happened. All she saw was a blur as Elizabeth launched herself in front of Emily, and then when she looked again, the older woman had knocked Zenaida to the ground, her fists colliding again, and again, and again with the side of her face. Even lacking the Outsider’s Mark, Elizabeth was still a force to be reckoned with. Trained by Daud herself, she did not need magic to be dangerous.

 _“YOU DID THIS!”_ Elizabeth screamed through her tears, her regal features contorted with fury. Zenaida was powerless to stop her, her lithe frame nothing compared to Elizabeth’s pure, brute strength. She raised her hands in an attempt to block her face but Elizabeth simply knocked them aside, Zenaida letting out a cry as Elizabeth’s knuckles bent her fingers backwards, a sickening crack sounding. Splatters of vermillion painted the snow, the white expanse becoming nothing more than a canvas for a macabre piece of art.

“Elizabeth.” Emily had to grab the noblewoman by the collar of her jacket, and tear her off of Zenaida. She threw her to the side, as far away from Zenaida—who could barely breathe through the blood in her mouth—as she could. “Elizabeth, stop.”

The noblewoman didn’t listen, scrambling back to her feet, and lunging back towards Zenaida.

“ _Elizabeth!_ ” exclaimed Emily, stepping between her and the bloody, and beaten woman who could scarcely lift her head in her agony.

 _“YOU DID THIS TO US!”_ Elizabeth yelled, so loud that Emily’s ears rung. _“YOU LED US HERE, AND YOU BETRAYED US!”_

“Elizabeth, it’s not going to change anything,” Emily said. Truth be told, she wanted to scream too. She wanted to the point the finger at someone else, and blame them for this. But they were all in the wrong. Zenaida had conspired against them, and Elizabeth and Daud had never looked back at Galia. Emily had failed to plan for this situation, and now her friends were suffering for it. Yelena was dead because of her failure. “We do not have the time for this. We have to make a plan.”

“Make a plan?” she repeated. “ _Make a plan?_ I am not letting him die, _your Majesty_. I understand that you believe our lives below yours—”

“I wasn’t—”

“—but we are _not_ letting him die.”

“You cannot take his place.”

“ _Why not?_ ” she said, having screamed so much already that her voice cracked. She stumbled back away from Emily, falling to the ground, her hands clasped over her mouth. “I cannot let him die. Emily, please…please, please…please tell me—tell me you will not let him die.” She could barely get her words out, so wracked by sobs that they broke up her pleas. She pulled her knees up into her chest, drained of all colour. “What are we going to do?

Emily shook her head. She hid her face in her hands, struggling to keep back her own tears. She blinked them back. She needed to be strong for everyone else’s sake. They didn’t even know where the Outsider was. He had disappeared shortly before Galia and Brailde had appeared. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“I…” Zenaida forced herself to her feet, wiping the blood from her eyes. “I did not know what she was going to do. If I had known—”

“Zenaida, don’t,” Emily said, shaking her head. “We don’t have the time. We can’t…we can’t stop Galia. Not with just the two of us.”

“Three,” Zenaida said. “This is my fault. I’m going to fix it.”

“I am afraid that none of you will be…fixing anything. You will not be needing to.”

Emily froze, her heart stopping in her chest. She didn’t want to turn around. Turning around would make it real, but she knew that they had no choice. Despite this, she did. She turned around, and she looked him dead in those black eyes. Neither of them spoke. They knew that this was what had to be done. The Outsider was dying already, and the only woman who could have saved him was lying dead on the ground. His time was running short, and unless they came up with a better plan—unless they were _somehow_ able to trick Galia and Brailde into giving Daud up, this was the only choice they had.

But Galia Fleet would not be so easily deceived.

She had been trained by Daud himself, back during the time of the rat plague. She knew all his tactics, all his techniques off by heart, and her brief time with Zhukov had done nothing taught her to stop at nothing until she got what she wanted. When Daud had left, taking Elizabeth, and the arcane gifts he’d bestowed upon his Whalers with him, Galia Fleet had been unable to cope. Like an addict going through withdrawal, she would do anything to taste the Void’s magic once again.

Including becoming the god of the Void herself, it seemed.

Along with Rinaldo Escobar—another one of Daud’s former Whalers—she had gathered a group of street rats, and taught them to be killers. She stole them from the gutters as Daud had once, and gave them knives to cut apart anyone who dared to look their way. Now, she was on a path of vengeance, and had no intention of letting anyone stopping her.

The Outsider knew this.

And Emily did too.

Galia was like Delilah. She wasn’t dangerous because she could tear a man in two with her bare hands. No, she was dangerous because she was clever. She had used her desperation to fuel her cause, and it had led to where she was now. She would burn her way through this icy wasteland, and damned be those who tried to deter her. Under Zhukov, Galia had learned how to create corroded bonecharms twice as powerful as any bonecharm Emily had ever seen or crafted. She had cut their connection with the Void but had left her own. With Brailde—a witch even Elizabeth was frightened of—at her side, they were all but unstoppable.

With time, and with resources, however, she could be felled.

But they currently had neither.

The Outsider’s death would buy Elizabeth and Daud time as Galia resurrected herself fully. They could find a way to stop her with the extra time, but who knew if they would succeed. Elizabeth had foreseen the fall of Dunwall when the blades—the blunted, and the new, and the twice sharpened—crossed. If she somehow managed to stop the latter from happening, surely she could stop the former—

Emily couldn’t breathe.

She finally understood what the last line of Elizabeth’s prophecy had meant.

In an attempt to patronise Daud, she had called him the Blunted Knife of Dunwall, rounded down after all these years. Emily had become the new blade when she had taken up her father’s sword to earn back her throne…

And Galia had been made into the dangerous creature she was now by two different people. First Daud, then Zhukov…They had sharpened her until she was razor sharp, and ready to kill.

It was too late.

Unless they stopped Galia, Dunwall was going to fall.

Emily knew then what she had to do. They needed time. They needed to protect the Isles at all costs. The lives of thousands had to be put before anything else. Silently, she took the Outsider’s hands in hers, still holding his gaze, and nodded.

That was it, then.

The Outsider would die at dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five chapters to go...
> 
> Don't forget to drop a kudos if you haven't already, and I would love to hear any comments you guys have! <3


	36. Before Morning Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Have I not proven my affections for you? When will it be enough, Emily? Will you at last be satisfied when I die with my name on your lips?"_
> 
> **The author would like to make a note this content may not be suitable for all readers.**

Emily did not have the energy to speak, let alone prepare herself for tomorrow morning. She let Elizabeth dig a grave for Yelena—Zenaida sent off to go tend to her wounds—and she had retired back to her quarters, her knees pulled into her chest. This…this was the part she hated the most about being empress. As long as she reigned, she would forever have to sacrifice her own happiness, her own joy to save her people.

She knew that they had to kill Galia, there was no doubt about that, and they couldn’t do that without Daud’s help. If Galia survived…Emily couldn’t even begin to imagine what the former Whaler would do. Delilah had been destructive, certainly, but Delilah had a _plan_. Galia wanted destruction for the sake of destruction. They would have to rally their forces, gather all the strength they could muster, and strike her down. The Outsider’s death could buy them time, but by the _Void_ , why was this how it had to end? She had come all this way to save the Outsider, and for what? For him to die anyway?

“So that’s it then?” Emily didn’t bother looking up. She knew who stood in the doorway, and she hoped that the derision that had crept into her tone made them flinch. “This was all useless. Why did you bother planting hope in my heart? Why did you…Why did you make me think that we had a chance? You cannot be surprised by any of this.”

“It was a risk I had to take.”

“Was it?” Emily’s heart felt like it had been torn from her chest, and then thrown under the hooves of a thousand stampeding blood-oxen. Her hands clasped, resting against her mouth as though in prayer.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had prayed. She supposed it had something to with the fact that she had walked in the Void, stolen the affections of the Outsider, and broken nearly every one of the Seven Strictures. Her gaze had wandered, her tongue had lied. Her hands were restless, her feet roving. Her mind was nothing short of errant, and her inability to sacrifice her own happiness for her people surely counted as a form of selfishness that broke the Fifth Stricture. There was but one Stricture she had yet to break, and even that was questionable.

“I never…” The Outsider’s voice broke, and that was when Emily looked up at him. His black eyes were closed, desperately fighting back his all-too-human emotions. “I never meant to hurt you.”

She scoffed, turning away. Her dark hair caught against the collar of her jacket, pulling it all to one side. Everything had been too much of a mess lately for Emily to think clearly. In hindsight, she could see how everything she had thought, everything she had said had been nothing more than a desperate attempt to this entire disaster over and done with. Now, it was as though a fog had been lifted. She could articulate her thoughts once again, this resignation she had found herself giving her space to breathe, and she could see what had been there behind that veil which had settled over her mind. What she found scared her half to death—not because it was a threat, but because she knew that even if she confessed it, it wouldn’t change anything. Even then, she found herself unable to keep from saying it.

“I think I fell in love with you.” This was one, if not the only, thing she had said in a while that had no trace of doubt in it. She spoke plainly, as though describing the colour of the sky to someone who was witnessing the same sunrise alongside her.

It did not matter how little intimacy they had shared, Emily thought to herself. What mattered was that her words were still true. She would give him everything, had he only asked for it. Then again, he had promised his last moments to her. He had given her both his life, and his death. This sacrifice he had decided to make…this was nothing more than him following through on his word.

They were racing towards the end, now. Time was quickly running short, and their quest to save the Outsider had failed. When dawn came, the god of the Void would be dead. They would return to Dunwall with their tails between their legs, and they would do what they could to ensure that Galia Fleet would die, Brailde along with her.

The Outsider took a seat on the bed, silent. “You should have known it would not end well.”

“You should never have let it get this far.”

“Could you stop…” The Outsider’s eyes scrunched up as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am to blame for many things, Emily, but that is not one of them. How could I stop you when—” He cut himself off, choking on his words, and looking down at the rings on his hands. “Unimportant.”

“Tell me.”

“No.” His tone didn’t leave any room for questions. “I find that my humanity is…coming back to me. Excuse any lapses in composure.”

“No,” she said. His tone might not have allowed for questions, but hers exuded her power. She had heard a witch say in Dunwall Tower the day she had gone after Delilah that etiquette was a weapon. How right she had been—it was the manners, and the etiquette that Emily had despised as a child that struck fear into the hearts of those who dared to oppose her. She carried herself with such authority none would dare to question her actions. Not even the Outsider was immune to her charms. “I will not excuse any lapses, nor will I excuse _you_. You will answer to me, and I will have none of your riddles, none of your half-truths. If you are to die on the morrow, you will die having told me all that there is to tell. I will not mourn for a man who did nothing but lie to me.”

He remained silent.

“Very well,” she said solemnly. “It is a great shame that we must end this way, but if you will not tell me I am afraid I must ask you to leave—”

“I could not stop you because I wanted the same thing,” the Outsider blurted out, his hands curled into fists. His nails dug into the flesh of his palm as though his admission caused him physical pain. “I am not supposed to get involved, Emily, but how could I not when you were asking me to?”

“You never said—”

“Did I have to?” he said. “What did you think this was all about? Tell me, Emily, do you think that I give my affections so freely?”

“I mean, I saw your interest, but you were always restrained—”

“I am a _god_ ,” he said, all but on the verge of tears. She didn’t know what to do. The Outsider…the Outsider didn’t cry. He was above such trivial things. Even in his most human moments, he did not express such primal emotions. Sadness, joy…all that was below him. The strongest emotion she had ever seen him display was disdain, and that was when he had spoken of how Delilah had corrupted the Void for her own power.

“I will outlast you and your kingdom,” he continued, “If I had been an ordinary man…By the Void, Emily, I would have given you the world. But I am not, and I knew that I would have to watch you die. I _tried_ to convince myself that I did not care, but there was a reason, _your Imperial Majesty_ , I came to you when I was dying. Why do you continue to _doubt_ everything I have said? Have I not proven my affections for you? When will it be enough, Emily? Will you at last be satisfied when I die with my name on your lips—” He did not have the opportunity to finish because Emily all but pulled him towards her with the hunger of a starving man.

She could taste the last remnants of his connection to the Void on his tongue—ash, and gunpowder that made her head spin, and her heart beat so quickly she felt as though it would leap from her chest. She had barely possessed an ounce of restraint when she had kissed him, but now she was too fuelled by her fever-hot desire to even consider the consequences of her action. This might very well be the last night she would spend by his side. Regrets…

Regrets would come later.

He pressed against her, pushing himself between her legs, and his weight forcing her backwards until she was pressed against the mattress, at his every whim. Her eyelids fluttered as his teeth scraped the length of her neck, hands grasping at the sheets just for something to hold, and her breath coming in short gasps. Her skin felt like it was on fire under his touch, every brush of his fingers against her bare skin _burning._ The Outsider wrapped his fingers around her wrists, bringing them above her head where he _pressed_ them into the headboard, rings cutting into her skin, and leaving her entirely defenceless.

She understood in that moment why the Outsider had been holding back.

If he had been restrained before—what with the way he had pinned her to the wall of the Wale—this was beyond compare. He all but tore her clothes off of her, throwing them far behind him, and—most importantly—out of her reach. She made no move to stop him, despite the fact that he still wore far too many layers. He had not yet removed her smallclothes—or anything below her waist for that matter—but under his hungry black-eyes she felt more exposed than she had ever been.

“There’s no going back from this,” he warned as though she would want to.

She did not give him an answer, only closing the distance between them with something that is nothing short of _desperation_ , pulling her hands from his grasp just to clutch onto the lapels of his jacket.

The Outsider’s fingers gripped her hips like he was trying to hold onto dear life as she undid the buttons of his jacket one at a time, Emily amazed by the fact that she could keep her hands so still. When she tossed his jacket to the side, throwing it alongside her own, and leaving him sporting a shirt that clung to his form, the last bit of the Outsider’s restraint _snapped_.

She had lain with others before, in the dead of night in her safe room. Alexi had been the first, a result of a spur of the moment decision and a little too much whiskey, and then with a handful of others before settling with Wyman. There had been no one since Wyman, not that there had been the time, but by the _Void_ was she feeling it now. It was as though the Outsider had taken a great big weight off of her chest, leaving nothing behind but an aching _hunger_ that only he could satisfy.

He coaxed short, breathy gasps from the young Empress as he moved downwards, removing her trousers and her black panties—which he had the _gall_ to smirk at—so slowly she wanted to scream. Eventually, she kicked the last of her clothes off her, desperate to have him back on her, to have him closer, _to touch him_. He only chuckled at her eagerness, and for a split second, Emily thought he was going to end it there—damn him, why did he still have so many clothes on?—before he dove down, and bit into the skin just below her hip. Emily could not stop herself from letting out a moan that built up in the back of her throat before falling from lips she had bitten until they were a bright red.

Her nails dragged across the Outsider’s back, tearing through the fabric of his shirt, and leaving behind long, red marks that made him hiss through his teeth. She did not stop to apologise, the buttons popping and scattering as she tore the rest of it away, leaving behind an expanse of skin as white as snow. It was marked only by the rare freckle, and now the lines on his back which Emily decided she could not allow. She reciprocated what he had done to her hip by doing the same to his neck, leaving an angry mark that would turn purple in a couple of hours for all to see alongside the ugly wound Galia had left him with.

He forced her back, Emily letting out a moan of disappointment before he began to tut, his black hair tousled, and falling across his face. “This is not about you,” he said. “Not tonight.”

She wanted to argue that there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow, that if she wanted _her_ night, it would have to be today, but he was right. This was his last day, and Emily had never cared about which position she played. She settled for leaning back, nodding, and mumbling incoherent complaints under her breath.

“You can’t make me wait all day then,” she muttered.

“I did not realise you were in a rush, your Majesty,” he said in that mocking tone of his but all it did was send a shiver down her spine, and when she looked down at him, she realised that he was as bare as she was. A heat crept up the back of her neck, and Emily had to look away just to remain composed.

“Call me that again,” she ordered, trying to remain in control, and failing.

“Your Majesty,” he crooned, lips pressed against her skin. Every time before now, he would call her by her title only to mock, or belittle her. This time, she found a shiver rippling down her spine, her head thrown back as he continued. “Your Majesty,” he said again, this time against her hip, a wicked smile upon his mouth, “is this what you would have of me?”

“Not about me,” she reminded, throwing his words back at him.

“You’re right,” he said, more to himself than to her, and she barely had the time to shoot another retort back at him as he slid into her so quickly and without any forewarning that her toes curled, and her hands fisted in his hair. The Outsider stilled, breathing through his teeth as he glanced up at her, checking her reaction.

Emily did not need a mirror to know how she looked, her lips parted in a gasp that had slipped from her, and her cheeks flushed crimson. “You’re not—” She cut herself off as he shifted _within_ her, gritting her teeth. “You’re not stopping there, are you?”

“Hm, the thought did cross my mind,” the Outsider teased, shifting his weight again, just to coax another noise from her lips. She managed to hold him off for a moment longer, but then something within her broke, and she could barely string a sentence together.

It was as though everything that had been keeping them apart, keeping them distant disappeared. She was nothing more than an extension of him now. His lips claimed every part of her, and hers did the same of him. This was one final declaration, one final hurrah before they would forever be torn from the other’s side come the morning. She came undone, unravelled under his touch, still hesitant and wary after a millennia spent alone in the Void, and she was more than happy to guide him, placing his hands there, there, and oh by the Void, yes, _there_.

The only words she could muster were his name, and desperate pleas for him to not stop. Slowly, she began to tense, winding up like clockwork under him. Every movement she made was more desperate, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pulled him closer towards him, damned be all the Strictures, crooning his name like a prayers of a madman, too incoherent to do anything else. The world around her could have been on fire for all she knew, and she doubted that she would have noticed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed as the Outsider pressed a kiss into the underside of her jaw just as he slammed himself back into her. “I don’t think I can—” Like everything else she had wanted to say tonight, she was cut off, this time by a fit of her own nonsensical gasps and moans, not aware of the words she was saying. Her back bowed, her chest pressing against his.

Through the haze, she was distantly aware of his shuddering, cursing in a language she did not know before coming to a still before collapsing against her. His weight forced them both back into the mattress, their breath coming in quick, rapid gasps. With the smoothness of everything else the Outsider did, he fell to the side, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I would be satisfied,” she said, breaking the quiet, “if you didn’t die at all.”

Her remark was so out place it was nothing short of absurd, and the only thing the Outsider replied with was laughter. “Perhaps,” he said, his chest shaking, “but we don’t always get what we want.”

“But—”

Before she could sit up, he placed a hand on hers. “No, Emily,” he said, his eyes closing. “Let it end like this, and let me drift off into the Void knowing that I did one thing right.”

She nodded, though he couldn’t see, and fell asleep to the last steady beats of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four chapters to go...
> 
> ~~Also, talk about slow burn there, Kass. Yeesh. Don't know why I wanted until we're just about at the end to actually do anything with their relationship. ~~~~~~


	37. Light Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Jessamine would not have approved of this course of action, and Emily knew as much. However, for the first time in years, she found that she couldn't bring herself to care."_

They waited for Galia and Brailde just as the first slivers of light cracked over the horizon. Zenaida several steps behind Elizabeth, her wounds covered, and the noblewoman looking as though she wanted to book it in the other direction. Emily stood by the Outsider’s side, their hands intertwined, and savouring every last moment that they had. It was the last day of the Month of Darkness, and today it would mark the end of the man who had existed long before the Empire of the Isles had.

Emily’s whalebone charm seemed to weigh twice as much as it normally did as Brailde, Galia, and Daud shimmered into existence. There was no flash of ash that usually accompanied any form of a transversal. They simply appeared out of nothing, coming into a focus like a silvergraph being exposed. Emily rubbed at her charm absentmindedly, needing something to do with her fingers to keep her hands from shaking. She could have _sworn_ she felt a small spark of… _something_ as her fingers came in contact with the bone but she did not have the time to linger on the sensation as Galia stepped forward, Daud in tow.

The Knife of Dunwall’s face was beaten beyond all recognition, cut up, and bruised so much that his scarred features had almost disappeared in the swelling. His lip had been split open, blood crusting on the collar of his jacket, irreversibly staining the fabric. She couldn’t say that she knew Daud well enough to fully empathise with him, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he must have been in. Emily noticed that Galia’s knuckles were scabbed over, the skin split. She didn’t have to be Sokolov to put the two together.

Elizabeth looked ready to kill her.

“So who is it going to be then?” Galia said with her eyes flicking between Elizabeth and the Outsider, the latter’s knife still held to Daud’s throat.

She was still flickering in and out of existence, her form going grey, and her outline shaking before snapping back into focus. It didn’t seem to be happening as frequently as it had the night before, and Emily suspected it had something to do with the strange bonecharm she was now sporting on her sleeve. It looked nothing like the bonecharms Emily had ever seen, or crafted. This seemed to be made out of a different kind of bone, neither human nor whale, and was as white as the snow. Its sharp edges had been rounded down, smoothed with exposure, almost like the tooth of some strange animal. Runes she did not recognise had been carved into the surface, their sharp, crude edges looking nothing short of alien and animalistic.

The same sort of runes that had been carved into her necklace.

Emily _had_ been wondering why Brailde had been brought into this, but things were quickly starting to make sense. Galia had still not fully recovered, half in the Void, and half not. It was Brailde’s magic that was keeping her tethered to this world. Perhaps if she destroyed the bonecharm…

“His life, or one of yours?” Brailde said, raising her voice though it was not necessary. They were as silent as a room full of corpses.

Daud’s one good eye stared desperately at Elizabeth, shaking his head as though he wanted her to let him go. Everyone knew that such a thing was not going to happen.

“ _Well?_ ”

“Mine.” Emily could not stop the Outsider from letting go of her hand, taking a step forward. There was no fear in his voice, no doubt. He had made peace with his death. Emily…Emily could not say the same.

Galia’s brow arched. “I must say…that _is_ a surprise. Very well. A deal is a deal.” She didn’t let go of Daud so much as throw him, kicking him before her so that he fell to the snow, too injured to be able to put up a fight. She held up a finger as Elizabeth made a step towards the fallen assassin. “No one is touching him until the Outsider is with us,” she said. “Can’t be too careful, after all.”

“Of course,” sneered Elizabeth.

Emily couldn’t stop the Outsider from leaving. “Don’t go,” she wanted to say but the words died on her lips as the last shred of hope she possessed faded away. There was no going back. Not now that Galia had a knife against the Outsider’s chest. Not now that Daud scrambled to get away from his maniacal protégée who had turned against him for reasons out of his control. Not now since the Outsider was giving up his life for a man he had never particularly cared for. Not now that everything they had worked towards had been for nought. 

Galia’s form flickered again, and she let out a string of curses as she looked down at the bonecharm on her shoulder. “Brailde, you know the ritual—”

Emily couldn’t hear the rest of what Galia was saying, only aware that Brailde had started setting about preparing for Galia to take the Outsider’s place as the god of the Void. She couldn’t do anything besides stand and watch, Elizabeth holding onto Daud for dear life, and running a hand through his blood-stained grey hair. Emily gripped her necklace so tight that she almost feared it would shatter, and then…Years later, she would look back on this day, on this very moment, and she still would not understand what had happened. She only knew that she heard a small crack, like ice splintering, and when she looked down at her charm, there was a fissure running through the bone.

And that was when her magic came flooding back all at once.

Whatever damage that had been done to Brailde’s charm, whatever had happened, magic came pouring out from the bone. Zenaida would go on to explain years from now that magic could neither be created, nor destroyed, and Brailde had simply displaced their connection to the Void, placing it in the necklace. But in that moment… In that moment it did not matter. Emily shuddered with a gasp as magic began to hum in her bones once more, and she barely had to say a word for Elizabeth to spring into action.

She had heard many things about Elizabeth’s Illusions from both Billie and Daud, even having seen it on a smaller scale when Elizabeth had conjured Mrs Pilsen out of thin air. Every one of her Illusions looked and felt real, to the point where Emily could still smell her mother’s perfume on Mrs Pilsen’s dress. Daud had gone on one late night to talk about the time Elizabeth had convinced a group of the City Watch that there was a weeper in the area when they had tried to sneak into the Rothwild Slaughterhouse back during the plague. But those had been relatively small-scale Illusions, and this…

This was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

All Elizabeth did was twist her wrist, and their surroundings disappeared in an instant. They faded out of view, disappearing into black fog, and when the smoke dissolved, Tyvia’s snowy expanse had been replaced by an exact recreation of Dunwall Tower’s throne room. The air even held the same heavy scent of wood polish they had been unable to get rid of since the renovations, and the Kaldwin banner hung on the walls, their blue almost blinding in comparison to the white she had become too used to see everywhere she looked.

It took Emily a split second to orient herself, but for all intents and purposes, she was _home_ , and it took Galia and Brailde twice as long. This was her territory now. She used the confusion to reach across the space—by the _Void_ , it felt good to have her powers back—and pulled the Outsider towards her. He stumbled as she caught him, but she did not have the time to explain her plan. Elizabeth seemed to have the same plan in mind, and grabbed Daud, before throwing upon a portal underneath all of them. They slipped straight through the Void, and for a second, Emily thought they were going to stop there, forgetting momentarily that the world-between-worlds no longer belonged to the Outsider, but they reappeared in the antechamber behind the throne room, pressing into the corner of the second floor. The door to the area disappeared, replaced by a solid wall as Elizabeth waved a hand.

Elizabeth set Daud’s limp form against a bookshelf, Emily pressing a dagger into his hand. “I don’t think I have to tell you how to use this.”

Daud did nothing but laugh, and it was a bitter, angry sound. There was no trace of amusement, not that the situation allowed for it. “Trust me,” he said, blood bubbling on his lips, “if I get the chance to gut Galia, I will.”

“I suppose then you are no longer plagued by your guilt for leaving her behind,” she remarked dryly. “Stay here. Elizabeth and I—”

“I’m helping,” Zenaida interjected. “If my father hadn’t done what he had to Galia, we wouldn’t be here. I need to make things right.”

Emily did not try to stop her. She met the Tyvian’s green eyes, and nodded once. “Elizabeth, Zen, and I will deal with Galia and Brailde,” she said, the nickname earning a small smile from Zenaida. “Outsider, you need to stay here with Daud. If he falls unconscious…” She gestured lamely. “I don’t know. Keep him alive.”

“I thought we had a plan,” the Outsider hissed.

“We did, yes,” she said, snapping her blade out, “but it changed. I’m not letting you die on me that easily.”

The Outsider knew a losing battle when he saw one, and chose to say nothing. He ran his hand over his face, but did not argue with Emily. “Come back safe,” he said.

“You too,” she said, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze before turning back to Zenaida and Elizabeth. The latter’s face was contorted with her concentration, sweat beading on her brow as she tried to keep up this grand Illusion. “Elizabeth, take it easy.”

“I am,” she said, a little too sharply for it to sound like the truth. “This is…overwhelming. I do not know how much longer I can keep this up.”

She was in no state to be helping them, Emily soon realised. She would have to make do with Zenaida. She could only hope that the Tyvian had learned how to fight. “I’ll have to be quick,” she said, readjusting the position of Brailde’s knife in her boot, tucking it out of sight. It wasn’t exactly secure, but if she became disarmed, it might end up being the difference between life and death.

“Yes, you will,” Elizabeth replied, struggling to put together a coherent sentence. “I will…try to manipulate the surroundings to help you and Zenaida. You will have to take Galia down by yourself. Make her suffer for me, will you?”

Emily placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’ll make her regret the day she thought she could stand against the two most proficient killers in the Isles.”

Elizabeth laughed shakily. “If only your mother could see us now.’

Jessamine. Emily winced at the thought. There was no option, no possible way Emily could avoid spilling blood. This would only end with Galia dead. She had seen how Daud had dealt with Delilah, locking her away in a place that he had thought was secure only for her to return, and wreak vengeance. If Galia returned, she would reduce the entire world to ashes.

No, Galia Fleet would have to die.

And Emily Kaldwin would have to be the one to do it.

She had done her best in Karnaca to avoid unnecessary causalities where she could, and Karnaca was all the better for it. Under the guidance of a council Emily had made oh-so-lovingly with her own hands, the country was starting to flourish, and recover from Abele’s mistake. Even when she had returned to Dunwall, she had chosen to trap Delilah within her painting, giving the poor woman what she had spent her entire life searching for. Galia Fleet, on the other hand…

This was one of the few times Emily would have to use the blade she had invested in, but this time, she would be doing it out of necessity. She could count on one hand the amount of lives she had taken while in Karnaca—the crazed nest keeper she had killed out of fright still weighed on her conscience—and she regretted all of them.

But Galia Fleet had chosen to cross the wrong person.

As if Daud and Elizabeth had not been enough—she really was becoming quite fond of them—she had harmed the Outsider time, and time again. In her quest for vengeance, she had damned herself. Jessamine…

Jessamine would not have approved of this course of action, and Emily knew as much. However, for the first time in years, she found that she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her mother had been dead for sixteen years now, and it was time, she thought to herself, she started to move on.

 _When others might choose to draw blood,_ the memory of her mother’s voice whispered, _you find another way. This, I think, is my highest praise._

She had found other ways for too long. If her time with Daud had taught her anything, it was that no one was wholly good, and no one was wholly bad. Indulging oneself for too long led to an excess of one or the other, but Emily was toeing the dark now. She would not sink in… Would she?

No, she thought, looking back over her shoulder at Daud, at Elizabeth, at the Outsider, at Zenaida— _her friends_ —she would not sink in. Not when they would pull her out. As Zenaida had said, it was her duty to do what was necessary. Emily Kaldwin did not have the luxury of making the choices that would suit her the best. No, as Empress of the Isles, she would forever have to put others before herself, even if that meant dishonouring her mother’s memory.

But she was doing what had to be done.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself as she and Zenaida went to end this once and for all. She had made her choices, and she would face the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~"Low chaos? I haven't heard that name in years..." - Emily, probably~~
> 
>  
> 
> Three chapters to go!
> 
> If you haven't dropped a kudos yet, don't forget to, and I'd love to hear any questions, or thoughts that you have in the comments below <3


	38. I am the Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Is it going to be worth it? Let me tell you, Galia, you can never wash your hands clean of the lives you have taken. No matter how good things get, you will have to live with what you have done."_

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Zenaida as they ducked under a display case, watching as Brailde and Galia scanned the throne room. The door they had escaped the antechamber through disappeared behind them, leaving behind a wall of thick stone not even cannon-fire could breach. Neither of their foes seemed to have any clue as to where the others had disappeared to.

Emily had no intention of letting them even _begin_ to suspect what was happening.

“We need to get that knife away from Galia,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I’m not certain as to how this works, but Yelena—” Her voice choked on the mention of the older woman who had died to Brailde’s knife. She tried again. “Yelena made it seem like that knife has to be the thing to kill the Outsider. If we get it away from her, the Outsider will live.

“Doesn’t stop her from going after Elizabeth and Daud,” she mumbled.

“We disarm her, then we kill her,” Emily said. “She cannot be allowed to live. I can handle Galia. I need you to…take care of Brailde. Are you…Are you certain that you are willing to turn on them? Were they not…?”

“My friends?” Zenaida snorted. “They were never my friends. They promised me power, promised that I would be…reinstated. They have yet to deliver. Besides, what use is power if we are all dead? It seems better to risk it, no?”

Emily found that even if Zenaida’s intentions were not the purest, or the noblest, she was glad to have the Tyvian on her side. It felt…right, somehow. She was undoing all that her father had done, and she was doing it by the side of a woman her father had tried to ruin. She decided then and there, that if they survived this ordeal, she would make Zenaida a lady of Dunwall. She could prove useful to have around. “Fair enough,” she said. “We are clear, then? You get Brailde, and I’ll get Galia?”

She unsheathed a sword as long as her forearm, keeping it close to her chest as they crouched under the display case. “I would be _more_ than happy to gut that witch,” she said.

“Oh, Elizabeth…” called out Galia, sing-song. “I know your Illusions. If you think you’re scaring me…”

Brailde ran her hand over the wall separating her from the others. “It feels real,” she murmured, slamming a fist into the stone.

“But it’s not,” Galia reminded. “She’ll crack eventually.”

Emily turned back to Zenaida. “We need to make this fast. Do what you need to do.”

“How do I know what I need to—”

The rest of Zenaida’s question escaped her as her form seemed to melt into a roiling cloud of black smoke that crept along the floor with a whisper. She slipped into the shadows without a sound. She had missed this, she really had. The Void’s whale song sang in her ears, crooning a mournful lullaby, and the _rush_ in her veins… She shuddered back into existence, shaking as though shedding a second skin made of solid smoke. Galia and Brailde had yet to notice her, too busying studying the wall to look behind them.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” Emily said, settling in her throne. Her finger drummed against the arm, brows raised. “Galia, I think you should know by now that Attanos don’t give up that easily.”

“But you’re not just an Attano, now are you, Empress?” Galia said, turning around. Her scarred skin had gone grey, the Void almost seeming to stain her very form. She raised her sword, and was just about to bring it down on her head when Emily reached across the throne room, pulling herself to safety. She snarled in frustration, barely noticing as Zenaida slipped out from under the display case to go after her ally. “I was there, you know. When Daud killed your mother. I tore you away from her, and I watched as she fell. She didn’t even put up a fight. Your father on the other hand…Well, he was turned to stone without even putting up a fight. Shall we see who you take after more?”

“I am _not_ ,” Emily hissed, raising her sword to block a bolt that Galia shot at her head, “my parents.” She pulled herself to the other side of Galia, bringing her sword down across her back.

The woman let out a cry, stumbling backwards as she moved to parry her next attack. “You are nothing but a _child_.”

“You are not much older than I am, Galia,” Emily said, summoning a doppelgänger to aid Zenaida who was struggling to keep up with Brailde’s magic-infused fighting style. The magic burned her from within, and left her drained, struggling to keep up with Galia as a consequence. “Don’t pretend that you are above me.”

“Oh, silly, stupid little Emily Kaldwin,” she spat out through gritted teeth as her blade locked with Emily’s. “You won’t just give up, will you?”

“It’s not in my nature,” she replied, rolling to avoid the former Whaler. She was twice as fast as Emily was, no doubt due to the fact that she moved through the space like a breeze, not quite real enough to have weight or any tangibility. Still, there was no going back now. Even if she was fighting a losing fight, she would only fall when she was dead. “You should have stayed dead.”

“And you should have stayed out of a mess that wasn’t yours,” Galia said, shoving Emily backwards.

She stumbled, but soon recovered with nothing more than a pain in her shoulder. “You must have known this would not be as easy as you thought it would be,” she said. She side-stepped another attack, elbowing Galia in the chest. The former Whaler burst into a fit of coughs, the air knocked out of her lungs. “You did this to yourself when you brought my friends into it.”

“Friends?” Galia snorted. “Up until recently, you wanted to kill Daud just as much as I did.”

“People change,” she said, “you would see that if you weren’t so _blinded_ by your hatred for Daud!” She choked as Brailde struck down her doppelgänger, and Galia used that opportunity to slash the Outsider’s knife across her chest, leaving behind a wound that wept crimson.

“I do not hate him,” she corrected, Emily pressing a hand over her wound, fleeing from Galia as she recovered. “I only want him to suffer as I did.”

She reached across the room, pulling herself to safety just as Galia went to strike what would surely be a killing blow. She scrambled atop a display case, trying to get the upper ground. Brailde’s knife slipped from her shoe, and Emily did nothing but stare at it longingly, unable to get it back without putting herself in harm’s way again. Zenaida was fighting tooth, nail, and claw to try and gain the upper hand against Brailde, and was gaining very little ground. They were losing.

Badly.

“Do you know what it’s like,” Galia said, slowly walking towards Emily, “to have everything you’ve ever cared about torn from you?”

Emily couldn’t keep herself from laughing, though it might have had something to do with the blood loss. “Are you kidding me?” she said bitterly. “I lost everything in this very room, and let me tell you, killing the person who did it will fix _nothing_. You rebuild what you have lost, and you move on.”

Galia gestured to the space around her, still flickering in and out like a light moments before burning out. “Soon, I will be a god,” she said. “How is _that_ for rebuilding?” She lunged towards the display case, firing multiple bolts, but Emily pulled herself to the opposite side of the room which did nothing but elicit a feral snarl.

“And how much blood have you spilt trying to get here?” she asked. “Is it going to be worth it? Let me tell you, Galia, you can never wash your hands clean of the lives you have taken. No matter how good things get, you will have to live with what you have done.”

“I,” Galia spun around, her blade glinting in the light, “do not _care!_ ”

Before she could close the distance between the two of them, the ground tore in two. The floorboards splintered, the floor opening up to reveal a seemingly endless black chasm that split the room in two. Even if this was nothing more than one of Elizabeth’s Illusions, neither of them wanted to test what it would be like to fall into the rift.

“He gave you _everything_ ,” Elizabeth hissed from the end of the room, the floor repairing itself under her feet before disappearing the instant she stepped away. She carried herself with authority, her head held high, and a storm brewing in her grey eyes. “He gave you everything, and never asked for anything, and now you are trying to kill him?”

From the other side of the room, Emily could do nothing but watch as Elizabeth marched towards the fallen Galia. Zenaida and Brailde had not been separated, but the witch was so distracted by Elizabeth’s sudden appearance, that the Tyvian left towards her foe with the ferocity of a saber-toothed black bear. She impaled her sword in the Pandyssian witch’s shoulder, the woman letting out a cry as she fell to the ground, still.

“He wanted one thing,” said Elizabeth, waving her hand. A phantom wind knocked Galia across the room, throwing her into a wall. “ _One_ , and that was to disappear. Why could you not give that to him? Why did you have to come back, and ask him to give you everything all over again? He owes you _nothing_.”

“Elizabeth, I—” began Galia, scrambling to get up.

“Shut up, you silly little girl,” she seethed, kicking her back down. She pressed the heel of her boot into Galia’s wrist, pinning her to the floor, and she let go of the Outsider’s knife almost instinctively. Elizabeth knocked it several metres away. “You know nothing of his sacrifices. Do _not_ justify this thirst for revenge on your need to feel validated.”

“You wouldn’t understand—”

“What it is like to get your power ripped from you?” Elizabeth finished, leaning down. “I assure you, I do. Or have you forgotten how I came to rise through Daud’s ranks?”

Emily felt as though she was watching everything in slow motion. Even if she had been able to move, it would have changed nothing. So, she watched as Galia reached out and grabbed Brailde’s knife from where Emily had dropped it in her attempt to flee. Her hand tightened around the hilt, and thrust it into Elizabeth’s shoulder with her free hand.

“May you both rot in the Void,” Galia said, tearing Brailde’s knife back out as the noblewoman collapsed, her grey coat now a bright red.

The Illusion shattered around them, falling to pieces in shards. The Throne Room snapped out of existence, Tyvia’s winter wasteland coming back into view, its biting cold sharper than ever.

“ _ELIZABETH!_ ” yelled Emily, running to the noblewoman’s side. She took her hand in hers, clutching it desperately. “Please, you can’t—”

“I’ve got this,” Zenaida said, skidding to a stop alongside them. “You need to get Galia. _Go!_ ”

Emily had been too preoccupied with trying to get to Elizabeth’s side that she hadn’t paid attention to where Galia had gone. The Outsider’s knife was missing, she realised instantly, and so was the Outsider. She let out a breath, trying to focus. Panicking…Panicking would not solve anything.

“Let him go, Galia,” Emily said calmly as she approached the former Whaler. She had run to the edge of the cliff on which Uzhasnyy rested on, a hair’s breadth away from the ledge, and was now holding the Outsider’s knife to the god’s throat. She took a step towards her, hands raised as Galia’s grip tightened on the blade. “You know that there’s no point in fighting.”

“I’m going to kill him,” she warned, “and I will become a god.”

“I’m afraid I cannot let you do that,” she said. “You’re going to die today, and you’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

“Oh, where’s that characteristic Emily Kaldwin mercy I’ve heard so much about?” she said, taking half a step back, and dragging the Outsider with her. The ground crumbled underneath her feet, threatening to drop her straight into the ocean below. “You’re not going to break you clean streak now, are you?”

She was silent.

“Shit, are you?” Galia said. “I didn’t mean any of this, really. None of this was supposed to affect you. How was I supposed to know you had become friends with Daud, of all people… _Emily,_ please—”

“On your knees,” she spat. “You die a coward’s death.”

“I can change, really, I can—”

“I don’t _care_ ,” she said. If Galia had gone after anybody else, if it hadn’t been the Outsider, perhaps Emily would have felt an ounce of pity for her. But Galia…Galia had tried to kill the Outsider, attempted to kill Daud, and Elizabeth was currently bleeding out in the snow because of her.

She did not deserve Emily’s pity.

“Shame,” Galia sighed. “I might have changed my mind if you had.” She took another step backwards, the Outsider letting out a string of curses in an unknown language. She looked down at the ocean behind her, watching as the waves ate at the cliffs until they crumbled away. “I wonder, could he survive a fall such as this? Would you like to find out?”

Emily’s heart _stopped_. The Outsider’s eyes were wider than they had ever been before, and the last of the colour in his pale complexion drained away. “Galia, please.” She couldn’t put any other sentence together. Every one of her thoughts was a mess of words she couldn’t make sense of. There was no pattern, no common thread. The only thing she could think of that made sense was one word, and it repeated itself in her mind until it was almost deafening.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—

“Oh, look, now you’re the one that’s begging me,” said Galia. “I’m sorry, Emily. Really, I am.”

But her apologies did nothing to stop her.

Her apologies did nothing to stop the knife from tearing through skin and sinew.

Her apologies did nothing to stop the light from draining from eyes as black as onyx.

Her apologies did nothing to stop her from slitting the Outsider’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Oh, sorry, did you think this was going to end happily? 'Fraid not...~~
> 
> As always, leave a kudos if you haven't already, and comments are the favourite part of my day, so don't forget to drop one <3


	39. All Come to Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"She had done what needed to be done, damned be the consequences."_

To say that the Outsider fell would have been an understatement.

He seemed to collapse in on himself, doubling over as blood as black as night escaped his veins, and stained the ground. Emily’s very body betrayed her. Muscles refused to move, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was drowning alive. She could barely take a step, forced to watch as the Great Leviathan lay motionless on the ground, his hand still outstretched, reaching for Emily. His rings glinted in the light which cracked over the horizon, marking the end of the perpetual darkness that shrouded Tyvia during the summer months. They glimmered, and glinted, silver adorning hands as pale as the snow.

Everything seemed to come to a standstill.

The realms were waiting with bated breath as the last of the Great Leviathans fell to a human girl armed with nothing but a knife, and the desperate need to show the world her pain. She had taken all her suffering, all her misery, and she had thrown it out into the world for everyone else to experience with her, without care, and without regard for the lives of those she would inevitably affect. She had taken to reality with a hammer, destroying it beyond all recognition, and leaving the mess for others to clean up behind her.  

And that was when Emily’s world shattered.

The Outsider was dead.

She was deaf to the cries that escaped from her mouth. They tore straight through her all-too-human form, and cut through Tyvia’s wastelands. Her weak, fragile, _mortal_ body was far too small to contain the grief that clawed its way through her, eating her alive as she stood— _watching—_ helplessly as the only thing that had been uncorrupted, untainted by the curse that seemed to follow the Attano bloodline was stolen from her. The Outsider had been ripped from her, and in his place there was nothing more than a hole she had thought long since gone; a hole that had been eating her alive for sixteen long years from the inside out.

It was like watching her mother die all over again.

She had spent years trying to stop something like this from ever happening again. There would be no more nights locked up in her room, dreading falling asleep for each time she woke, another piece of her memories slipped away. There would be no more days where all the life had been sucked out of her, leaving her empty, hollow, and unable to do anything but watch as the world continued on without her. There would be no more days where she would be unable to leave her bed, because going out there meant facing people who said nothing but false apologies, like they had ever really _known_ her, like they had ever really _cared_. There would be no more days where she would hide behind her masks of propriety, and endure countless meetings, after meetings, after meetings of people all saying that no child as young as her should have ever have to watch her mother die.

Of people who offered their apologies, but the instant she needed help, turned their backs.

The Outsider was dead.

Emily had thought for the longest time if she could learn to fight, if she could wield a sword in one hand, and a pistol in the other, she could fight off anybody who _dared_ to come near her again. She would learn from her father’s mistakes, and she would never let what happened to her mother happen again. Her father— _oh dear Corvo_ , she thought, _was this how you felt when mother died?_ —had teased her about it, saying that she only wanted to fight to fulfil her childhood dreams of going on a grand adventure.

But Emily’s childhood had died when her mother hand, and this need, this _desperation_ was born out of a promise she had made to herself:

No one else.

She had failed once before, sweet, darling, dear Alexi Mayhew dying in her arms; her red hair slick with blood, and her last words a farewell. She had not had the time to process her death then, and it wasn’t until weeks after she had defeated Delilah had she let herself weep in the confines of her quarters. Everything she had loved, everything she had cared for had been stolen from her by someone who had been a little too power hungry, a little too unkind, a little too uncaring, and Alexi Mayhew had been buried in the Kaldwin family crypt, her features forever immortalised in cold, white marble.

And now she had failed again.

She realised she was shaking, trembling like a bird about to fly for the very first time. She hadn’t even noticed. There was an emptiness in her, and a blinding anger that made her see red, and they were swirling around her chest, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe—

The Outsider was dead.

She was going to tear the world apart in her rage. There was nothing hold her back now. She had long since made her peace with her parents’ expectations, and it was only the fear of losing the Outsider’s interest that had forced her to keep from falling to pieces, and ending up like everyone she had ever stood up against— _from ending up like Delilah_. Emily was her mother’s daughter, yes, but she was also her father’s, and her father had cut down his enemies. There was a time for peace, and there was a time for war.

This was not the time for peace.

_The Outsider was dead._

_And Galia Fleet had killed him._

_Now Emily Kaldwin was going to kill her._

She was done doing the best she could. This world—it was not kind to little girls or empresses. This world took, and took, and took, and never gave anything back. It had ripped her soul from her very chest, and torn it to pieces without any regard for the empty shell of a woman it had left behind. She’d had enough of people taking things that weren’t theirs to take.

Emily barely blinked as she reached across the snow, and _pulled_ Galia towards her. Her terrified screams sounded like a lullaby to Emily’s uncaring ears as she was dragged through the air, and tossed at Emily’s feet. The Outsider’s knife had left her grasp, sent flying off the side of the cliff on which a god had been killed. Uzhasnyy had been cursed before, built upon the bones of those who had watched as the blood had run out, making a child into a god. Now, this was where it all ended. Four thousand years of misfortune, and it had ended the exact same way it had started:

An innocent life that lost to the edge of a sword.

She had started to realise that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she fought to remain good, and just, and kind, and everything her mother had stood for, it would always end the same. It would always end in blood, and death.

Distantly, she was aware of Galia’s pleas, the former Whaler weeping into the snow by Emily’s feet. Emily heard none of it as she raised her sword. She was going to die anyway, why could she not understand that? Today, tomorrow, a year from now, Galia Fleet would either die by her hands, or by someone else’s. This was almost a mercy Galia did not deserve. Like Daud had spared her mother from more suffering than what was necessary, Emily was offering Galia a clean, quick death rather than the prolonged pain she surely deserved.

“Emily, stop.” Daud had forced himself to his feet, face still swollen half shut. The hand he placed on her shoulder felt as though it weighed as much as stone. “This isn’t you.”

“It is now,” was all she said. How dare he question her, after all he had done? She was no worse than he was, and it was only Elizabeth who had redeemed him. Elizabeth, who was still alive because of the Outsider’s sacrifice. Elizabeth, who he adored above all else. Elizabeth, who was to him what the Outsider was— _had been_ —to her.

And Galia Fleet’s head fell from her shoulders.

It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she thought it would be. All that, a month spent trying to save the Outsider, and it had resulted in what? A simple swing of her sword, and the Outsider… It almost pained her to think about what had happened, but she would have to face it sooner or later.

The Outsider was dead, and the world was all the worse for it.

Emily felt as though she had been ripped into a million little pieces, then put back together by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Parts of her were missing entirely—why was there this pain in her chest?—and others were in the wrong part. For instance, why was there a gaping hole in her chest, and why was her heart in her throat?

The Empress wiped her bloodied blade on her jacket, the Kaldwin blue stained a horrible shade of dark purple. It would never come out, no matter how many times she washed it. It would remain there like a scar, a reminder of the crime she had committed. Years later, she would find that she did not regret it. She had done what needed to be done, damned be the consequences. She sheathed her sword, never once looking back at the Outsider’s corpse. “We need to leave. Go get your things,” she said. “Billie’s waiting for us.”

“Emily, perhaps—” began Zenaida.

 “We need to leave,” she said, repeating herself.

If she focused, if she concentrated on the task at hand, perhaps she could forget what had happened. Perhaps it would fade away, the same way the details of her mother’s death had started to escape her. She knew it wouldn’t, and she knew she was lying to herself. Her mother’s death had taken nearly two decades before the memory had started to fog.

It hadn’t even been an hour.

She found that no one tried to argue with her. They packed their things, and Zenaida led them back to Yaro in complete silence. No one spoke—what was there to say, even if they had? They had come all this way for nothing, and now the destruction that was plaguing the Isles would devour the Empire completely. Their magic was gone. It had died the instant the Outsider had, the Void’s influence leaving their veins the same way the Outsider’s blood had left his. Even Corvo Attano, miles away, knew what had happened, and he excused himself from meeting for the rest of the day to kneel at a shrine hidden in Jessamine’s secret room, desperately waiting for an answer that would never come.

“You know,” Elizabeth said, late one night as they camped under the stars. “Galia said that she never meant for you to get involved. What…what do you think that the notes in that abandoned apartment were about?”

Emily did not have an answer for her. “I don’t know.”

“Never trust anyone,” said Zenaida, whittling the tip of a stick she had found. Her pocket knife gleamed in the light of the fire. “I wouldn’t believe what she says.”

“Don’t you mean ‘what she said’?” Daud asked wryly.

Her lips pressed together. “I suppose,” she said. “Forgive me for my error. I…I am going to bed.”

The trek back to Yaro took less time than before. They did not stop for anything except to sleep, and Emily barely managed to eat the entire time. She couldn’t sleep either. Every time she closed her eyes, all she saw were silver rings shining in the first light of the year.

No one questioned the fact that Zenaida had decided to come back to them to Dunwall.

“I think you need all the friends you can get right now, Emily,” was all she offered in way of explanation, though it really didn’t make much sense. She didn’t need anybody’s help, much less the assistance of the daughter of a man who had once tried to kill her. When she had voiced these thoughts with her, the Tyvian had done nothing but scoff, and said, “I do not think I asked for your permission. Besides, if the world is going to end because…” She’d cut herself off then. “Well, I would rather be by your side than on my own.”

Billie had a million questions for Emily the instant they boarded the Dreadful Wale. “What happened?” was one of the first ones. She took one look at the bandages crossing Emily’s chest, then another at the new scars marring Daud’s face, yet another at the sling Elizabeth’s arm was in. Her brows knitted together, gaze passing over Zenaida entirely. “ _Well_?”

“Leave it alone, Billie. She’s taking it a lot harder than the rest of us are,” she heard Daud murmur to her as Emily went below deck. “Sit down, it’s a long story.”

It was strange to think that despite all that had happened, the Dreadful Wale still hadn’t changed. It seemed to exist in a perpetual state of constancy, the only thing in Emily’s life that had not changed, despite the circumstances. The only thing that differed was the level of dust that had settled over her belongings, but that could quickly be remedied with a dry cloth, and a little elbow grease. Why the Wale’s permanence couldn’t extend to other things in Emily’s life, she did not know, but at least she could rest knowing that even if Dunwall fell, the Wale would remain as it was.

“I heard about what happened,” Billie said, about an hour later. “I’m…sorry. Are you…okay? I mean, shit, you probably aren’t, but how are you…doing?”

“When are we leaving for Dunwall?” Emily asked, continuing to tidy her desk, just to give her shaking hands. “We have yet to leave the harbour.”

“ _Emily_.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

They both knew she was lying.

“Well…” She ran a hand through her hair before pulling out Brailde’s knife and setting it down on Emily’s desk. “Your friend—Zenaida?—wanted me to give this to you. She said she needed you make certain it was safe, given that the other knife went over the cliff, and this still has the power to kill a…” She looked down at her feet. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but this shouldn’t have happened to you once, let alone twice.”

“Yes, well, whose fault was it the first time?” Emily shot at her.

 She bristled. “I’ve apologised for that.”

“Apologising won’t fix what you did.” She didn’t bother looking at the Captain. She knew that the instant she did, memories would come flooding back. She did not know whose face she would be seeing behind her eyelids—Jessamine, Alexi, the Outsider—but no matter who she saw, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from doing something she regretted. “You should just be glad I didn’t kill you like I killed Galia.”

Billie had known Galia, once upon a time. They had fought side by side, and even if there had been no love lost all these years later, there had been a time where Galia had been Billie’s friend. Emily remembered none of this until the woman inhaled through her teeth. “Get some sleep, your Majesty,” she said. “It’s a long trip back to Dunwall.”

It wasn’t until the door shut behind Billie, leaving Emily alone for the first time since the Outsider’s death did she burst into tears, at last mourning for all the things she had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, that's the last chapter. The epilogue that follows this is mainly a teaser for So Below, and I will be publishing a story surrounding Elizabeth and Daud during the rat plague, so keep an eye out for Ego Homini Lupus going up on the 26th.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~And if you think that Emily is staying low chaos after this, boy do I have some bad news in store for you...~~


	40. 'til the End/Epilogue

“It’s funny, isn’t it?”

She would have known that voice anywhere. All whale songs, and whispers in the dark, and far too familiar. Hearing it felt like getting stabbed with a dozen razor-sharp daggers.

“All things end,” the Outsider continued. “I don’t think I ever anticipated how I would. I wonder if Elizabeth did… She always did see things a little differently.”

She refused to look at him. “Don’t make light of this.”

“Is it not my responsibility to?” he said. “You’re straying, Emily… I’m interested to see where you go now. Tell me, how far are you going to go down this road? Will you learn from Delilah’s mistakes, or will you become her—”

She slapped him, and the contact of his skin underneath her palm felt too real. He wasn’t really there, and she knew that. That did not stop the anger from coursing through her like a poisonous river.

“ _You’re dead_ ,” she hissed, eyes snapping open. Immediately, she realised it was a bad idea. She had been holding back her emotions for _days_ now, and now seeing him standing in her quarters on the Wale like nothing had changed… She would have rather stabbed herself than have to see him there with that familiar smirk on his lips as though they hadn’t left his body behind in Uzhasnyy, unable to crack open the frozen ground to bury him properly. “How can you be—”

“I’ve learned in my long lifetime not to ask,” he said quietly, cupping one side of her face, his thumb resting on her lower lip. She did not want to look him in the eyes, did not want to look at the face she would never see again. Still, he forced her to, and she realised that the black that had invaded the whites of his eyes had disappeared. Instead, what she was left with were amber, their pupil clearly defined. His eyes were…human. He had said once that he had died when he was younger than she was now, and had changed little over the years. Ever since she had first met him, she doubted this. He had looked older than she did, but now… Perhaps it was because of his eyes, he looked like that scared, young man whose throat had been slit on an altar, alone and afraid. “You’ll be safe now.”

“ _You’re dead_ ,” she repeated, this time in a sigh.

“Perhaps,” was all he said, “but perhaps you are too. You have lived in the shadow of death for so long I fear it has become a part of you. Be careful in the upcoming years, Emily Kaldwin. The sacrifices you will have to make will be beyond compare.” She placed her hand over top of his, but before she could say anything, he shook his head. “You don’t have to say it. I…wanted you to know I felt the same.”

“Is this where you say I made a dying man feel alive?” she said. “Because if you do—” He laughed, and Emily felt like she was watching him die all over again. “Am I dreaming?” she asked. “Is this…”

“We never know if we’re dreaming, now do we?” he said cryptically. “Not until we wake up.”

“I—”

The Outsider hushed her, raising his face towards the sky. Something akin to thunder, or the earth breaking rumbled in the distance. “The world will always endure. I advise that you prepare for the worst. Your kingdom may survive me yet,” he said, furrowing his brows as he started to slip straight through her fingers once again.

And he faded away like smoke.

* * *

 

The two week journey back to Dunwall was undergone in complete silence. No one dared to speak. There was nothing that could be said that wouldn’t make things worse. But now Emily was home, and time… Time would continue on with or without Emily. Aside from the fog, if any stranger looked at Dunwall, they would not have thought that anything was wrong. None of the citizens seemed to notice anything either. They went on their business like they did every day, blind to the horrors that were bound to come their way. They thought that aside from the lack of whale oil, all was well. The Void was falling apart now, and it would take the rest of the world with it.

Emily walked the streets of Dunwall like a criminal doomed to the chopping block, running her hands over bricks, and lampposts, her fingers lingering for a moment too long. Soon, this would all disappear into the Void.

No one recognised her, not even as she stepped foot in Dunwall Tower for the first time in a month, with Elizabeth, Daud, Billie, and Zenaida in tow. Despite how many companions she had returned with, it was the weight of the one soul they had lost that stole the breath from her lungs. Even as Corvo Attano glanced up from a document he had been pouring over with High Overseer Borden, looking older and more tired than ever despite the relief that spread across his features as he recognised his daughter, Emily couldn’t find any peace. She had returned, and they had defeated a threat, but this victory was far too pyrrhic for her to be able to say that she was happy to be home.

“Emily,” her father gasped, pulling her into a hug. “I thought you were dead.”

“Surprise,” she said weakly, unable to return his embrace with any enthusiasm. She swallowed as he held her at arm’s length. “Father, we… We have much to talk about, and I…have someone to introduce—or reintroduce—you to. Sit down, this is…going to take a while.”

And far across the oceans, in a land all but unexplored by the Empire of Isles, awoke a man whose eyes had once been as black as night.


	41. Afterword

Hey guys, it's Kas here! 

Just wanted to thank everyone who read this, and supported me while I wrote this. Also shout out to each and every one of you who left long essay comments, or just nice compliments, or constructive criticism, and left kudos! You guys really helped me write this entire thing, and I owe you one.

Seriously.

You guys are a lifesaver.

Also shoutout to the critics, however few and far between, because you made me realise that there are certain things in this universe that is believable within the story limits, and certain things that aren't. Really helped open my eyes as to who this fic was aimed for, and that was great in narrowing down the overall message and aesthetic I wanted to convey in this fic.

Which is, essentially: sometimes, you are different from the people around you, and they will not necessarily accept that. Rather than hate them, use what makes you different, and change things, even when the world itself seems against you.

Emily Kaldwin will officially return in So Below (this will be updated when it's posted), but there is an interquel from Daud's point of view titled As Within. Give it a look!

And as always, thanks.

\- Kas.


End file.
